


he was pointing at the moon but i was looking at his hand

by bodhirookes



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Small Town Angst, Summer Vacation, and richie and eddie grow up, basically it's That Summer before senior year, pretentious metaphors and similes, the tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 22:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22938877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodhirookes/pseuds/bodhirookes
Summary: “Hey, Captain Kirk.”Eddie looks at him, scowling. “What, Richie?”“Where is it that you go?”“What?”There’s really no other way to ask it, Richie reasons with himself, and rolls with it. He knocks on Eddie’s forehead again, softer this time, and asks:“When you get lost in your head. Where is it that you sneak off to?”Eddie doesn’t say anything for a moment. They continue to walk towards his house, stepping over bumps in the sidewalk, stepping on cracks, and avoiding the half-eaten apple that has been in front of the Andersons’ house for three days in a row now. Richie thinks he’s not going to answer the question, or tell Richie to leave him alone, but then Eddie sighs and cranes his head back to look at the sky again.“I don’t know exactly,” Eddie admits, voice hushed. “All I know is that it’s somewhere far away from here. Somewhere with a skyline and no walls.”Or, the summer before senior year, Eddie keeps getting lost in his head and Richie keeps trying to find out where he goes
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, also copious amounts of Richie/Bill/Stan broship, side Stenbrough and Benverly
Comments: 42
Kudos: 160





	he was pointing at the moon but i was looking at his hand

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!! This is my first time writing Reddie so please let me know if it sucks!! I actually was not planning on ever watching or reading IT because 1) clowns are one of my greatest fears and 2) I can only assume that a horror story about clowns written by Stephen King will be absolutely fucking terrifying and gorey and the worst, but my best boy Marco convinced me to give it a try since I was interested in seeing the Losers’ dynamics, and here we are. Found family is my #1 favorite trope, closely followed by being suffocated by a small town, so now my heart is empty and full all at once and I have a need to write about these two gay ass losers wanting to get the fuck out of Derry. I’d like to make a formal statement of gratitude to Born to Die by Lana Del Rey and Hozier by Hozier for getting me through the summer between high school and college, and for hearing the song “I Found” by Amber Run while driving down a dark highway for inspiring the car scene in this fic, and thus, the inception of the fic as a whole.
> 
> I haven't read the book yet and am still not super deep into The Lore of It so if there are any glaring irregularities here, please let me know! The way I have this set up is that everything is the same in Ch 1 but Bev moves back to Derry for high school and I am amongst those who depict Richie's parents as Less Than Stellar. **SO HERE IS MY CONTENT WARNING:** There is going to be references to child abuse in this fic, all coming from Richie, Bev, Bill, and Eddie!! There's not super explicit details but there is a scene towards the end where a situation escalates enough to make a character cry and run from their house, but there's no actual scenes of the child abuse. Please stay safe and in a good headspace folks!! 
> 
> I made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/413IIoAvSQp50S6k7SZSqT?si=38kVrHlkQ9yLPG4WwRn2iw) for this fic, so if you'd like to take a listen, these are the songs I listened to the most while writing this!! (Yes, I did put Youth by Daughter on there, no I will not apologize for it)
> 
> Title comes from the poem "Anyway" by Richard Siken because I feel like Richie and Eddie’s relationship is very similar to the metaphor: Eddie looking at the sky and Richie looking at Eddie. Alternatively titled: 'a man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he’s still left with his hands' from "Boot Theory" since Richie is a Richard Siken bitch at heart. Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own!

Richie starts to notice it the summer before their senior year. 

They’ve all got their own reasons for wanting to skip town; Bill is tired of living with ghosts, Ben is tired of being underestimated, Mike is tired of the staring, Bev is tired of watching her back all the time, and Stanley is tired of bowing his head. Richie’s just as tired as the rest of them--he’s tired of screaming into an empty house and hearing nothing back, or looking into it the wrong way and getting two black eyes for his trouble. 

Eddie, he knows, is tired of being suffocated. Of feeling like he’s breathing through a plastic bag. Richie has known this since Eddie told him so one night, during a hellish night of studying during finals week. He’s known it since they were just kids, when Eddie would have to sit out during certain activities because of his lungs, or when he had to leave early to go watch shows with his mom so that she wouldn’t have a meltdown. He’s probably known it since the first time he saw Eddie, when his parents brought him to this cesspool of a town: Sonia clutching his hand inside of the grocery store, and Eddie catching Richie’s eyes with his own, two big blots of earthy umber that Richie could see the sadness in even across the aisle. 

But this--this is different. Eddie looks uncomfortable even more than Stan does on any given day, like his jeans are always one size too small, or there’s a rock in his shoe that he can’t seem to get out no matter how many times he takes it off and shakes. But somewhere over the course of their last summer together, Richie notices that Eddie looks a lot more than uncomfortable. 

He looks restless. He looks like he can’t ever take a deep enough breath. He looks like he’s clawing at the edge of the world, trying to pull himself over it. 

He sees it now, at the other end of the couch. They’re all crammed into Ben’s living room, piled onto the couch, loveseat, or the ground. Ben had announced earlier that week that his parents were going upstate for the weekend to see some friends and invited them all to spend the night Friday. They’d shown up in a pack at 8 P.M. sharp, toting blankets and pillows and enough money to pool together to buy a couple of pizzas. And now they’re all sprawled out over the room and each other, watching _Alien 3_ and debating loudly how they would handle an alien invasion. 

“Lots and lots of fire,” is Beverly’s response, wild grin in place. Richie notes that her big eyes and kick-ass-take-names attitude greatly remind him of Ripley. “Obviously.” 

“You would burn the planet down,” Stan argues, poking her with a socked foot. He looks like a princess, with his legs in Mike’s lap and his head in Bill’s, and also extremely comfortable. Richie might be a little jealous. “The best weapon of choice is a gun. _Obviously.”_

“Y-you think a normal g-gun could kill an alien?” Bill asks, clearly torn between laughing and being outraged. “It has to be one of the b-blasters, Stan.” 

Stan tilts his head away from Beverly to glare up at Bill. The heat of his glare is lessened considerably by the heart eyes he couldn’t conceal if he tried, or the way they get bigger when Bill looks at him with the same kind of heart eyes. 

“Tell me where you’d get one of those fancy-ass blasters and I’ll be glad to change my answer.” 

“On their ship. _Obviously.”_

Stan snorts. “No fucking way I’d be going on one of their ships. That’s how you get abducted, stupid.” 

The _You’re the only one brave enough to pull something like that_ goes unsaid, but is heard by all of them nonetheless. Bill smiles at Stan like he’s the best thing he’s seen since sliced goddamn bread, and Richie thinks that there should be a “Beep beep, nasties,” option available for him to use whenever Bill and Stan get too cutesy and into each other. 

“How about you?” Bev asks Mike, rolling her eyes in Stan and Bill’s direction. 

“I’d have to stay loyal to my stun gun, which isn’t as cool as a blaster, but does the job.” 

Richie takes the opportunity to get his two cents in. “Oh, so you’re going to downgrade from Stan’s bad choice to an even worse one. Sounds effective.” 

“All right, Trashmouth--what would you use?” 

He doesn’t hesitate before clenching both fists and raising them up into the air with a loud and proud: “My two best fighters, of course: liberty and justice!” 

Ben tips his head back and laughs loudly at that, while all of the others give him various versions of: “Yeah fucking right, Richie.” 

Richie points at Ben, who is still laughing like he can’t believe Richie after all of these years. “Hey, I don’t see what’s so funny. What kind of weapon would you use, asshole? Your words?” 

Ben considers it for a long moment, still giggling, before ultimately deciding: “Nah. I would pull a Bill and take one of their blasters, but I’d steal it from one of the aliens directly. Make it that much better when I kick its ass.” 

If Richie hadn’t previously seen Ben Hanscom brain Henry Bowers with a large arsenal of rocks or skewer the shit out of a demonic clown, he would have laughed at this answer, since Ben is one of the kindest people he’s ever met. But after seeing what he’s seen, Richie doesn’t doubt this answer for a second _._

He already has his eyes on Eddie (where they always are, like it’s Richie’s default setting, like whenever he’s looking away he’s missing something important) when Ben asks: “What about you, Eddie?” 

Eddie doesn’t answer. He has his arm propped up on the arm of the couch, his chin propped up on his hand, and his eyes are fixed on the TV. To the others, it probably looks like Eddie is engrossed in the movie, but Richie knows that he’s miles away right now, and probably hasn’t heard a word anyone has said. 

Mike nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his. “Eddie.” 

Eddie starts, looking over at Mike with wide eyes. It’s funny enough to make Richie smile into the collar of his shirt, but Eddie’s big, big eyes and parted lips make his stomach go all squirmy and hot. 

“What?” 

Ben laughs again. “Are outer space jokes a little too on the nose right now?” 

Eddie finally seems to come back to himself, and he gives Ben a very poised middle finger. “Fuck you. I was enjoying the movie instead of talking over it like the rest of you dickheads.” 

“Lighten up, Pops.” Bev tells him; from her reclined position on the ground, she reaches a foot up and pokes Eddie like Stan poked her. “It’s relevant to the movie. How would you fight the aliens during an invasion?” 

Eddie wrinkles his nose at her foot, but surprisingly doesn’t slap it off of him. “Duh. A gun.” 

“We already went over this,” Bill sighs as Stan reaches over Mike to bump fists with Eddie. “At this point, me and B-Ben are the only ones who are g-gonna survive an alien invasion.” 

“Correct,” Richie agrees. “If I had to deal with defeating another ginormous, slimy piece of shit, I would just lay on the ground and let the elements take me.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Bev laughs, just as Mike says, “Not shocked to hear that.” 

Usually, this is when Eddie joins in on the fun and starts teasing Richie with everyone else. But tonight, as soon as the attention is off of him, his eyes slide back towards the TV and he disappears into another dimension again. Richie ignores the jostling going on next to him (Bev and Stan fighting each other and Bill and Mike trying to keep the peace) and watches Eddie disappear, the warmth his stomach curdling. 

He doesn’t know the exact date it started, which is a miracle, given how many hours a day Richie spends looking at, talking to, or thinking about Eddie. Somewhere in between finals for junior year and the beginning of their last long, humid summer in Maine, he started to see something else besides claustrophobia in Eddie’s frowns and bad attitudes. Somewhere in between biking all over town, sprinting through peoples’ yards at midnight, and jumping recklessly off of the cliff at the quarry, he stopped submitting to the suffocation and started gasping for air. 

At some point, Stan announces that he needs to go to the bathroom and climbs off of Bill’s and Mike’s laps. This prompts them to get up to grab some more snacks, and prompts Richie to make a decision: stay where he is and stare, or move over and try to talk to Eddie. After barely a moment’s hesitation, getting closer to Eddie wins (just like it always does) and Richie crawls over to him, trying not to topple over onto Beverly. 

Richie gets nice and close to Eddie’s side and throws an arm around his shoulders. Eddie startles again, looking up at Richie with the biggest eyes in the world, like he doesn’t know where he is or who he’s with. 

“Hey, Eds, it’s just me,” Richie laughs, even though the weight in his gut gets heavier at the bewilderment on Eddie’s face. “Where’d you go?” 

Eddie huffs, digging an elbow into Richie’s side. “Nowhere, jackass. Like I said, I’m just trying to enjoy the movie.” 

“Mmhm,” Richie hums. “I think this movie’s great. That scene where they poured lava over the lizard alien thing was cool, right?” 

“Yeah, the coolest.” 

Richie ducks his head down until his mouth is right next to Eddie’s ear and whispers, quiet enough that Beverly and Ben will never hear: “Eddie, it was molten lead, not lava. You’re not paying attention to a single goddamn thing.” 

He knows that they’ll probably piss Eddie off, but he says the words anyway. He tries to say them in a way that conveys: “Tell me what’s wrong and let me help you,” more than: “Why the fuck aren’t you having fun and lying about it?” Richie braces himself for a harder elbow in his side, one meant to push him away so that Eddie can get off of the couch and storm into the kitchen, but it never comes. Eddie says and does nothing for a long, long moment, long enough that Richie thinks he didn’t even hear him, and then Eddie lets out a heavy, bone-deep sigh and leans back. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says, quiet enough that Beverly and Ben will never hear. “I’m just a little distracted tonight.” 

“No shit, Spaghetti,” Richie replies without heat. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” 

Eddie looks at Richie without saying anything, eyes dark and gorgeous in the bright glare from the TV. Richie’s breath stumbles a little; Eddie has been in a daze for weeks, and he hasn’t looked at Richie with this kind of intensity in a long time. It makes him feel like Eddie has his cute little hands wrapped as tight around his throat as they’ll go. Eddie opens his mouth, clearly intent on saying something that will be a piece of the raw, honest truth, but then Bill reappears with Mike and Stan, all three of them talking with mouths full of food, and his eyes dim again. 

“I’m fine,” Eddie tells him, without any of his usual bite at Richie’s badgering. “Just distracted.” 

Richie wants to push it, pull whatever words Eddie really meant to say right out from behind his clenched teeth, but he knows that he’s not going to hear the words until Eddie feels like saying them. So he gives Eddie a small, cool: “Whatever you say, Eds,” and settles back against the couch. Eddie doesn’t tell him to move his arm, so he doesn’t, and uses the hold to keep Eddie from being jostled when the other three cram themselves back onto the couch. 

“Why’d you move?” Mike asks him, like he doesn’t already know. 

“Separation anxiety,” Richie sasses back. “If I can’t smell Eddie’s laundry detergent or feel his bony shoulders pressing into mine, I start foaming at the mouth.” 

“We know.” Stan says. 

Richie watches as Stan proceeds to curl up on top of Mike and Bill again, Mike using his legs as a table and Bill carefully carding a hand through Stan’s insane curls. Richie wants to make a pointed comment towards the way Stan always has to be in Bill’s space, even if it means he’s in someone else’s space as well (i.e. Mike), but he can’t quite follow through. Stan always looks wound up like a fucking rubberband, like one pluck will make him come undone and go flying off the rails. He always looks like he’ll shatter into a million pieces if someone barely pushes down on him. And then Bill will walk into the room and put a hand on Stan’s shoulders, or pull on one of his curls, or push their arms and legs together, and Stan will sag like he’s going to sink right into the ground. The permanent creases between his eyes and around the corners of his mouth will disappear and nine times out of ten smile lines will take their place. Richie wants to make fun of him so badly, but he can’t bring himself to make fun of Stan for finding someone who makes him relax enough to be happy. 

Instead, he reaches out and gives the bottom of one of Stan’s feet a little tickle. Stan barks out a laugh and jerks away from him, knees pushing into Mike. 

“Stop, Richie! I’ll break your nose!” 

“Yeah, Richie, stop.” Mike says, lighting hitting him on the shoulder. “He’ll break both of our noses and then I’ll have to break your spirit.” 

“Too late,” Richie replies sweetly, but does as he’s told and takes his hand away from Stan’s feet. Stan stays curled up for a minute, waiting to see if Richie will attack him again, and then stretches back out. He’s a tall son of a bitch now, nearly as tall as Bill and Ben, who are both just a little bit shorter than Mike and Richie, and his feet end up pressed into the side of Richie’s thigh. He knows it’ll end up being uncomfortable at some point, so Richie just pulls Stan’s feet up onto the top of his thighs and curls a hand around his ankle, allowing Stan to get as comfortable as possible. Stan doesn’t say anything, or jerk away again, but the way he taps Richie’s knee says enough. 

When Richie glances back at Eddie, Eddie is staring at Stan’s feet in Richie’s lap. Richie moves him a little, not enough to be a shake but enough to be on purpose, and Eddie looks back up at him. Richie makes a face, and Eddie makes one back, and then, to Richie’s utmost surprise, he shifts until he can comfortably rest his head on Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s heart gallops off in his chest, and he feels like he can’t breathe again, but Eddie doesn’t notice at all. He breathes out another little sigh, presses his cheek to Richie’s arm, and lets his eyes flutter shut. He feels Eddie’s body droop the same way he always sees Stan’s droop when Bill takes his hand or hugs him from behind. Like he feels safe enough around Richie to stop tensing for a blow. 

It makes him want to scream out loud, makes him want to tilt Eddie’s head back until he can slot their mouths together, but instead of doing either of those, he forces himself to relax. He forces himself to feel the warmth of Eddie’s side, and Mike’s side, and the comfortable weight of Stan’s feet in his lap, and mellows the fuck out. 

He misses the rest of the movie listening to Eddie breath in and out and slowly drift off. When he’s out, Richie moves the hand around Eddie’s shoulders until it’s curled loosely around the back of his neck, Richie’s thumb pressed to the top notch of his spine. He wishes he could ask if he makes Eddie feel safe the way Bill makes Stan feel safe, the way Ben makes Bev feel safe, the way they all make Mike feel safe. He wishes he could ask Eddie if it’s okay that he makes Richie feel safe, even when there are other kids in Derry who were at the arcade the day that Henry Bowers laid out all of his cards and who still look at him like they’d grind him into dust if they could. 

He wishes he could ask Eddie, when he gets into his contemplative moods or stares off into the distance for no reason, why he keeps going places where the rest of them can’t follow. 

Richie takes a deep breath and shifts until his head is resting precariously on top of Eddie’s. Eddie mumbles something and curls closer, face moving to press into the crook of his shoulder. Richie closes his eyes and lets his body droop, like whenever Bill tucks one of Stan’s curls behind his ear, or whenever Eddie crawls into the hammock with him and sits in the cradle of his legs. 

He feels Stan tap his knee again, knows that it’s his way of saying it’s okay to let another boy make him feel safe, and he gives Stan’s ankle a small squeeze in response. 

**_~.~.~_ **

He almost asks where it is that Eddie slips away to one night in the clubhouse, when the light from the setting sun has turned everything to gold. Everyone else is talking about this or that, but Richie and Eddie have been crammed together in the hammock for over two hours now, reading comic books and adding commentary when they so desire. 

Well, Richie’s been reading comics and adding commentary. Eddie read a few comics, pretended to read a fourth, told Bill he was a sicko for one reason or another, and hasn’t moved or spoken since. If his eyes were closed, Richie would easily accept that he was just taking a well-deserved nap, but Eddie’s eyes have been open and staring at the same spot for close to an hour now. He notices this around comic number ten, and slogs through comic number twelve before giving up and staring at Eddie from the opposite end of the hammock. 

Eddie looks much the same as he did that night at Ben’s, and just about every other time he’s gotten caught in the mess of his own thoughts. Like if the roof caved in, he wouldn’t even notice, or have the energy to scream at Ben about safety laws. Eyes far away, chest rising and falling slowly, lids blinking open and shut like there’s a coat of honey over both. He looks sad, and tired, and so absolutely goddamn gorgeous that it steals the breath out of Richie’s lungs. 

Richie stares at the delicate expanse of Eddie’s throat for a long time, at the way the gold from the setting sun makes him look like he’s glowing from the inside out. It was nearly the first thing Richie knew about Eddie, that he was in love with the scrawniest, bitchiest kid he’d ever met in his short life, and that he was also so beautiful that Richie hardly knew what to do with himself. Shockingly, Eddie has only gotten scrawnier, bitchier, and prettier over the years that they’ve been friends, and Richie has taken extreme measures to hide the fact that Eddie fuckin’ Kaspbrak holds his heart in his stupid, tiny hands. 

Unfortunately, all bets are off when Eddie is laying a patch of sunlight with his head tilted back and one arm slung behind it. All bets are off when Eddie looks like he just descended from the sky he keeps looking up into for hours at a time. 

Richie desperately wants to ask where he’s at right now, what part of the clouds his head’s in, but he can’t make himself speak and break the spell. He’s helpless to do anything but stare, stare, stare at Eddie’s skin and doe eyes and crush the edges of a new _Batman_ comic in his white-knuckled grip. 

The sun continues to sink all the while, and when the only part of Eddie that’s lit up is his eyes, Bill stands up with a loud groan. It startles Richie so badly that he drops his comic onto the ground, and makes him tear his eyes away from Eddie for the first time since he noticed Eddie off in space. 

“I think we should go.” Bill tells them, stretching languidly. “It’s gonna be dark soon.” 

No one argues; the rest of them push themselves off of the make-shift stools they’ve collected and similarly groan and stretch. That leaves Richie to getting both of them out of the hammock, something he’s reluctant to do at the best of times, and right now-- 

Richie swallows a sigh and nudges Eddie with his foot. Eddie doesn’t even blink, so lost in his head that he’s deaf to the movement and loud swearing going on around him. Richie clears his throat and nudges him a little harder. 

“Hey, space cadet.” Nothing. Richie digs his toes into one of Eddie’s ticklish spots. “Earth to Kaspbrak!” 

Eddie flinches away from him with an aborted scream. “Jesus, Richie! What was that for?” 

“Sorry, Space Queen,” Richie says flippantly, not bothering to hide his grin. “We’re heading out now, unless you’d like to spend the night here. Cuddle up with the worms and the skunks.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Eddie grouches, but moves to push himself up. “Help me get out of this thing or I’ll flip you over.” 

Richie waggles his eyebrows and replies with a very lame, “Kinky, Eds,” but does as he’s told. He lets Eddie use his hands as leverage to struggle his way out of the hammock, which was _not_ designed for two people even when they were kids, let alone as two gangly-ass teenagers. It’s obviously nothing spectacular from Eddie’s perspective, just a way to get out of their cocoon, but the feeling of Eddie’s sun-warmed skin against his own is enough to glue Richie’s tongue to the roof of his mouth. When he leans closer to swing a leg out, Richie smells sunlight and sunscreen and soft, warm cotton and his gut flips. 

When Eddie’s out, he starts pulling Richie out, too. 

“Get up, Trashmouth. I can’t pull your heavy ass out by myself.” 

“I only get up for one person, and that person is, without a doubt, your mom.” 

“Shut up. If I have to beep beep you one more time today, I’m never speaking to you again.” 

“I’ve heard that before.” 

Richie starts to struggle out of the hammock with Eddie’s help. Eddie might still be the smallest member of their group, and Richie might be the biggest, so to speak, but it’s just another thing that they’ve learned to navigate. Eddie knows how to pull Richie up off of his ass and Richie knows how hard he can push until he breaks something. Eddie knows all the spots that he can press to get Richie to crumple and Richie knows that Eddie, despite his vicious attitude, is not bulletproof.

When Richie’s standing again, all 6’2” of him, he gets his groans and stretches out. Eddie grimaces at the noise his joints make when he cracks all of them in succession. 

“When I’m rich and famous,” Richie promises, talking to the group at large but looking directly at Eddie. “I’m buying one of those super mega deluxe hammocks that will fit the entire Addams family in it.” 

Bev laughs. “I heard that porn is an up and coming industry, so you might have a chance.” 

Richie gives her a brazen grin. “You read my mind, Marsh.” 

“What’s your porn name?” Ben asks him, getting into the bit. Stan is already climbing out of the clubhouse, shaking his head and trying not to smile. “I think Trashmouth would suffice. You don’t even have to get used to a new name.” 

“I-I think you should go with Big Dick,” Bill suggests, laughing even louder than Bev. “Everyone knows what they’re in for right f-from the start.” 

Richie gasps loudly, putting his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie is also pulling a Stan and trying desperately to get out of this conversation and away from Richie. “I’ve got it guys--I’ve got the perfect porn name.” 

Eddie gives him a very unimpressed look, and Richie finishes with: “Dick Dozer, since this dick can plow through anything, including and especially Eddie’s mom.” 

He winks at Eddie, and Eddie punches him in the side, wriggling out of Richie’s hold. 

“Beep beep, asshole!” he hisses, and then goes to scamper up the ladder after Stan and Mike, who also decided he wasn’t going to stick around to talk about Richie’s adult film career. 

Richie thinks he should be a little stung by the punch, no matter how badly he deserved it, but it just endears him to Eddie even more. He knows he’s got a stupid look on his face for someone who was just sworn at and beaten up by the object of his affection, but he can’t fucking help it. 

When Beverly sees the goofy grin on his face, and the way he watches Eddie’s Keds disappear out of the roof of the clubhouse, she sighs deeply. 

“You’re hopeless.” It takes her flicking him on the chin to get Richie to snap out of it. He sticks his tongue out at her, and Bev flicks him again, this time on the nose. “Let’s go, idiot. We’re losing daylight.” 

Richie salutes her and struts over to the ladder, elbowing Bill out of the way. Bill stumbles off of the first rung with a, “Fuck you, Richie,” and Richie yells back, “We’re burning daylight, Big Bill! Hurry up! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” He practically throws himself up the ladder rungs, and Bill smacks him on the ass, laughing helplessly. 

When everyone’s out of the clubhouse and Ben closes it all up, they stumble their way back to the main road. It’s a beautiful summer night: enough heat from the day to keep them warm, but not enough to make them sweat; the sinking sun full of bright, bloody reds and oranges; insects buzzing lowly, fireflies blinking in and out of sight, frogs quietly croaking here and there; lingering scents of lakewater and woodsmoke mingling with the stark scents of blooming vegetation and loose earth. Stan and Beverly look like a pair of firecrackers, curls full of those bright, bloody reds and oranges. Bill is on Mike’s back, screaming and carrying on and looking weightless for all intents and purposes. Ben keeps reaching out to touch the trees and flowers, and trying to catch lightning bugs, face wide open and delighted and so in love with everything and everyone around him that it melts Richie’s heart. And Eddie--

Eddie is looking up at the sky again, away from the wounded sun and up where he knows the moon is waiting to take its place. Richie lets out a breath through his nose, half fondness, half exasperation. He’s not surprised that their small spat in the clubhouse wasn’t enough to make Eddie snap out of his daydreaming, but he’d been hoping it would last longer than the time it took him to climb up the ladder. 

He feels the pull to ask again, once they’re out of the woods and back onto the main drag of Derry. Mike is the first to split, as always, pulling his bike out of his usual hiding spot. He gives them all a hug and then takes off in the opposite direction towards his grandfather’s farm. The rest of them walked from Bill’s house, and they head back to the same place. At the front of the line, Bill is trying to harass Stan into giving him a piggyback ride, and somehow Stan ends up on Bill’s back instead, yelling about how Bill hardly walked at all on their way out of the woods. In the middle, Bev and Ben are whispering about something that Richie can’t be bothered to eavesdrop on, but when he sees Beverly grab Ben’s hand and whisper something else, and sees Ben grin and look away, clearly embarrassed, Richie feels himself smile. 

That leaves him and Eddie to their own devices, something Richie would take any day that he could, but is harder to enjoy when Eddie is so lost in his own head that Richie could propose to him and Eddie would just keep walking, eyes on the moon and stars. 

He exercises every single shred of his self control on the way back to their respective neighborhoods. They drop Stan and Bill off at Bill’s house first, and then trail Beverly and Ben to Ben’s house, until it’s just the two of them left. Eddie breaches the surface of the pool long enough to hug everyone goodbye, and then he’s underwater again, staring back up at the glittering ceiling of their neighborhood. 

It’s nearly dark by the time they make it to Eddie’s house. Eddie’s spoken less words to him tonight than any other night they’ve known each other, probably, minus the times they were fighting. For as cute as Eddie looks when he’s thinking, the silence makes Richie feel sick, makes him feel like he’s alone in a room full of people. 

The hold on his self control all but evaporates when they turn onto Eddie’s street. Richie can see his house from here, all the places they’ve trampled over, rolled around on, all the places Richie has snuck across to get to Eddie’s room without Sonia knowing it. He has a sudden, irrational fear that if he doesn’t get Eddie to look at him again and say something that isn’t “I’ll see you later,” that he’s going to lose him forever. 

He takes a deep, calming breath, and brings up a knuckle to knock on the center of Eddie’s forehead. 

“Hey, Captain Kirk.” 

Eddie flinches a little and looks at him, scowling. “What, Richie?” 

Richie purses his mouth, thinking of how he wants to word his question, but then his mouth blurts without his permission: “Where is it that you go?” 

“What?” 

There’s really no other way to ask it, Richie reasons with himself, and rolls with it. He knocks on Eddie’s forehead again, softer this time, and asks: 

“When you get lost in your head. Where is it that you sneak off to?” 

Eddie doesn’t say anything. They continue to walk towards his house, stepping over bumps in the sidewalk, stepping on cracks, and avoiding the same half-eaten apple that has been in front of the Andersons’ house for three days in a row now. Richie thinks he’s not going to answer the question, or tell Richie to leave him alone, but then Eddie sighs and cranes his head back to look at the sky again. 

“I don’t know exactly,” Eddie admits, voice hushed. “All I know is that it’s somewhere far away from here. Somewhere with a skyline and no walls.” 

Richie feels a lump form in his throat and says nothing else. He doesn’t know if it’s from the longing in Eddie’s words, or the longing he feels in his own chest, like a squeezing fist around his heart. 

He wants to ask if Eddie ever sees Richie there, too, when he looks off into this faraway place, but he’s scared to hear any answer that isn’t: “I wouldn’t go anywhere without you.” He’s so goddamn scared to hear Eddie say: “Why do you think I didn’t take you with me in the first place?” 

When they get to Eddie’s door, Eddie doesn’t invite him up, or tell him to sneak around the back, so Richie doesn’t. He tries to hide the ache welling up inside of him by tweaking Eddie’s ear and reeling himself in at the sound of Eddie’s familiar swearing. 

“Bye bye for now, Eddie Spaghetti!” 

“Fuck off, Richie,” Eddie says, swatting Richie away from his ear. 

“I’ll see you later when I come over tonight to make sweet, sweet love to your mother.” 

Eddie punches him again, but there’s an edge of affection in the hard line of his knuckles. “I’ll lock you out of the house.” 

“That hasn’t stopped me before,” Richie tells him, winking. Eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s definitely a smile underneath all of that disgust. It makes Richie be brave and, in a move he’s only ever seen Bill Denbrough and Ben Hanscom perfectly execute, tuck a stray piece of hair behind the ear he was just pulling on. Eddie’s eyes round out, and all the fight in his body goes soft, and Richie finds it within himself to say: “Maybe you can tell me about the place you go, sometime. Or take me there with you.” 

Eddie stares up at him, face open and closed at the same time. Deliriously, Richie thinks about a crescent moon, the phase where only a sliver of the moon remains amongst the black backdrop of the sky, and lets his hand fall away from Eddie’s warm skin. 

“See you,” Richie whispers, feeling like a meteor rocketing right towards the ground. 

“See you,” Eddie whispers back. 

He walks home without turning around again. He knows he’s being dramatic, that this whole cycle of longing and yearning and never quite being able to reach could be solved if Richie would just fucking _talk_ to Eddie. But not even kicking a demon clown’s ass can erase the fact that Eddie means everything to Richie, and Richie could only ever mean something to Eddie, but never enough. Given the choice between fighting Pennywise to the death and watching Eddie turn away from Richie, Richie knows what he’d choose over and over and over again. 

No one is home when Richie gets there, which makes him feel relieved in the most hollowed out, basic sense of the word. He doesn’t bother to turn on any lights; he toes his shoes off and creeps upstairs to his room, knowing which steps to avoid even though there’s nobody to scream at him for making a ruckus if he does step on one. When he gets inside, he changes into a different pair of shorts and a new shirt and lays on his bed. He thinks about putting some music on, or maybe a movie, but instead he lays in the dark and looks out of his bedroom window up at the sky. 

He hopes, for a while, that maybe Eddie will call him and talk to him about his weird moods, or tell him where he goes. But the phone remains silent, so Richie does too, and he lays in the dark without moving for a long, long time. 

As he’s drifting off to sleep, body finally unclenching and hope leeching away into exhaustion, he whispers to his empty room: 

“I hope you take me with you, when the time comes.” 

And then: “I finally got used to people wanting me around. You can’t take it back.” 

**_~.~.~_ **

He gets the phone call he was so desperately hoping for a week or so later. The Losers had spent the entire day hopping from place to place, not quite content to stick to one spot. They’d spent some time at the Denbrough’s, until Bill’s dad had come out and started harassing them about being too loud. Then they went to the quarry, but it was too cold of a day to comfortably go swimming, so they’d given up on that spot quickly. Someone suggested the clubhouse, but no one had really been thrilled by the idea. Eventually, they’d settled on hanging out on the edges of the park and going to the movies once the sun started to go down. 

Richie had spent all but ten minutes of the movie watching Eddie out of the corner of his eye, studying Eddie’s reactions and the way he carefully fed himself popcorn. Richie got the run-down of the whole movie from Danny, his lab partner at school, so he didn’t feel too bad about missing the whole thing to watch Eddie watch it. Richie had wanted to hold his hand so badly it made his teeth ache, but he had been good and kept his thoughts and desires to himself. 

Now it’s close to 1 A.M., hours after the movie ended, and Richie is still wide awake, thinking about the screen reflecting in Eddie’s huge, expressive eyes and the light sheen of butter on his bottom lip. The memory of Eddie sticking an equally buttery finger into his mouth to chase the flavor makes Richie groan quietly; Eddie never, ever, ever puts his fingers in his mouth for obvious reasons, and Richie only catches him doing it during movies where he’s snacking and totally engrossed in the plot. 

He’s about roll over and force himself to go to sleep (or eventually break and let the thoughts of Eddie’s fingers in his mouth take him down a road he tries his goddamn best to stay off of) when the phone rings. Richie managed to not only get a phone for free from someone throwing theirs out, but also managed to connect it to the main landline without his parents ever knowing. Since they’re out most nights, they don’t hear it when Eddie calls Richie at ass o’clock in the morning, but when they are home, Richie can still talk to him without his dad making a stink about it. 

Richie picks it up on the second ring, already settling into the position he usually does when Eddie calls him. Curled up on his side, glasses off, head tilted just right so that he can balance the phone on his ear without having to hold it the entire time. 

“Thank you for calling the operator, how may I direct your call?” 

On the other end, Eddie huffs, laughing as quietly as he can manage. “Yeah, I’m trying to get in touch with Dick Dozer. He’s a real bitch to contact.” 

“He’s probably just waiting for your mom to give him a jingle,” Richie says apologetically, and Eddie groans, still laughing. 

“Beep beep, Richie.” 

“It’s ten seconds into the phone call! You can’t beep beep me already!” 

“I can and just did, asshole. I _so_ did not call you to talk about my mom.”

“It sounds like you were trying to get in touch with Dick Dozer, so I’m guessing that means you were calling about what he does to your mom.” 

Eddie makes another breathy little sound, like he just barely stopped himself from laughing again. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“That’s often the review that Dick Dozer’s abilities get.” 

“Richie!” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Richie says, laughing too. 

From there, the conversation goes where it wants to. They talk about the movie (Richie pulling out Danny’s personal feelings on it for heavy reference), about how Beverly and Ben were definitely making out a little in the middle of it, about what movie they should see next, and maybe go by themselves so they don’t have to deal with Stan and Bill getting any bright ideas. They talk about their day prior to the movie, and how sometimes summer feels too long and too short all at once, and how they wish they could use Richie’s elderly truck or Bill’s microscopic Honda to get out of town more often but can’t since none of them have enough money to do it more than once or twice a month. 

They talk about school, about what classes they’ll share and what classes they won’t (Richie, unfortunately, scammed his way out of Art for three years, and is stuck with it first trimester as a senior). Eddie is worried about AP Calculus, even though he’s a fucking math genius, which Richie finds hilarious, and Richie is worried about AP Chemistry, because they get to blow less stuff up this time around, which Eddie thinks is for the best. 

Eventually, it leads into what they want to do after high school, once they get to choose what their lives will be like. Eddie does most of the talking here, since all Richie can bring himself to say is that he wants to get the fuck out of Derry, and after that, he doesn’t really care. Eddie goes on and on about different schools he’s been looking at, different majors he could have for his skill set, and all of the up-and-coming careers he’s heard of. 

“I could be a DNA lab technician for the crime lab in New York City,” Eddie says dreamily, so soft and full of wonder that it makes Richie’s heart twist. “They get paid a lot of money, Richie.” 

“They also have to touch other peoples’ blood, semen, and piss. That sound like a good time to you?” 

A moment of silence, and then, “It was worth a shot. I’d probably come unglued about two days into it.” 

“Try two hours, Eds.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“You could be a cop instead,” Richie says, ignoring him as usual. “Detective Eds. Getting into everyone’s business and calling their bullshit. You’re good at that.” 

“I’d have to chase people a lot. I’m not so good at that.” 

“Yeah, especially in NYC. Criminals there are scrappy.” 

“Says who? You?” 

“Late night TV.” 

“Uh huh.” 

Eddie lists other jobs he thinks he might be good at: epidemiology, bioengineering, everything and anything involving statistics. Richie listens as best as he can, but he’s finally starting to relax, and the smooth, familiar cadence of Eddie’s voice only soothes him more. Eventually, he’s just listening to Eddie speak, low enough that Sonia can’t hear but clear enough that Richie can, his words soft and sure, his breathing steady. Listening to Eddie speak to him feels the way Richie assumes other kids feel when their parents are actually home at night and kiss them goodnight. It makes him feel safe, and like someone is there to watch over him. 

“Richie?” 

Richie jerks a little at the sudden calling of his name. He knows he’s been caught, and he thinks he should feel bad about it, but he can’t bring himself to. 

“Yeah, Eds?” 

“Were you even listening to me?” 

“Yeah, I was.” 

Eddie’s raised eyebrow is more felt than seen. “Oh yeah? What was the last thing I just said?” 

The combination of the late hour and his overwhelming and mellowing fondness for Eddie makes him say, against all prior reasoning: 

“Sorry, I wasn’t really listening to your words. I was listening to your voice.” 

There’s a weighted pause, where Richie and Eddie both think about why the fuck Richie just said that out loud. He doesn’t rush to take it back, though; whether it’s because of the late hour, or his overwhelming and mellowing fondness for Eddie, he can’t tell, but he doesn’t try to shove them back down into his chest. 

Eddie surprises him when he asks, even softer than before: “Are you home alone?” 

Richie makes an amused noise. “Aren’t I always alone?” 

“Not always,” Eddie says, and Richie feels it like Eddie just pushed a hand through his wild, crazy curls. 

Richie suddenly wants to be next to him so badly that he nearly stands up to do so. He thinks about asking if Eddie will come over, or if Richie can come over there, but then he thinks about how fragile he feels right now, about how fragile this moment between them is. Seeing Eddie in front of him might irreversibly splinter the glass in his heart, or might make Eddie tell him that he’s already got enough of his own crushing weight to deal with, let alone Richie’s. So he stays in bed, the phone perched on the side of his head and his thoughts solely on the boy on the other end of the line. 

He thinks about Eddie in bed, curled up on his side, phone tucked under his head against his pillow, and longs for him more than he’s ever longed for someone in his entire life. 

“Sometimes,” Richie starts, voice thick and out of his control. “I feel like I’m worlds away from you, Eds. Whenever you get lost in your head, it’s like all you can see is that skyline you told me about. You get so far away that even though I’m looking right at you, I feel like I can’t reach out and touch you or you’ll disappear.” 

He means to say it like: “I bet that skyline’s gorgeous, if you keep looking for it so much,” but ends up saying it like: “If I ever lost you, I’d crumble like a fucking bridge into the water below it."

He hears Eddie swallow on the other line, a dry click echoing over the phone. Richie waits for him to say something back, eyes caught on the blurry outline of the moon. A perfect half tonight, with the dark side pointing towards Eddie’s house. 

Eventually, Eddie lets out a slow, unsteady breath. His voice is similarly thick when he talks, and small in a way that makes Richie feel sick. 

“I don’t mean to, Rich.” He hears Eddie shift, skin on bedsheets making the line go staticky, and the desperate need he feels to touch Eddie hurts him like a throbbing tooth. “I don’t mean to get so lost in my head all the time. I’m not trying to push you away, or hold you at arm’s length, or anything like that.” 

Richie waits for the ‘but’, one fist clenched into his blanket and the other in his hair. 

“I just… Sometimes, I want to get out of this shitty ass town so badly that when I think about leaving, I forget I’m still here. I can see myself leaving and growing somewhere else, somewhere new and incredible and completely separate from Derry, and I can see it so fucking clearly that I forget that it’s not real yet.” 

_He wants out,_ Richie thinks to himself, like he didn’t already fucking know, like he’s also not counting down the days until he can run. _He wants out more than he’ll ever want you._

He can feel the glass in his heart splintering and pressing up against his ribs, can feel it like he felt it when Bill laid him out right in the street after Neibolt, like that time he pressed Stan’s buttons a little too hard and Stan told him he was a piece of shit. Richie thinks he should be used to it, that he should know that he was made to be alone, but now that he knows what it’s like to be wanted by someone, by a whole gang of loser kids, he can’t unlearn the feeling of finally _belonging_ somewhere. It physically pains him to think of having all of it unravelled by one small, perpetually pissed-off boy who Richie would die for over and over again if he had to. 

He feels like he’s going to start hyperventilating, like he’s being held underwater, and then Eddie’s soft, soothing voice breaks through the roaring in his ears. 

“You’re always the one who grounds me, when I get lost in my head.” 

Richie couldn’t have possibly heard that right. Eddie zones out around him more than anyone else in the group, maybe besides Bill. Richie’s probably seen more of the side of Eddie’s head than the front all summer, and even a little before that, too. 

“Hm?” is all he can bring himself to say, a small noise of confusion. 

Eddie makes a noise back, one of agreement. “Sometimes, when I get too lost in what life will be like once we graduate and get the fuck out of here, it’s hard for me to come back down. You always pull me back to where I need to be.” 

Richie tries to think of something to say to that, anything other than _I love you so much I can barely think around you._ All he can come up with that might begin to encompass what he wants to say and what he really means is: “Eddie.” 

For some reason it makes Eddie laugh, a small giggle against the receiver of the phone. “I think it’s the glasses. Everyone got really tall, and Beverly changes her hair every other day, and Ben looks like a fucking super model now, but you never got rid of the glasses.” 

“I need them to see,” Richie tells him stupidly, and Eddie laughs again before saying: 

“Me too.” 

Richie’s throat closes up, and when he blinks, his vision is blurry from more than bad eyesight. Thankfully, Eddie ignores the more prominent tremble in Richie’s voice when he whispers:

“I’ll always be there to pull you back in, Eds.” 

And Richie, in return, ignores the ache in Eddie’s when he whispers back: 

“I know you will, Rich.” 

They hang up soon after that, when both of their eyes are starting to close and not open again. Eddie mumbles out a goodnight around 2 A.M., and Richie mumbles one back. He hears a soft click, and then the dial tone. When he pulls the phone off of his ear for the first time in almost an hour, Richie brings it to his mouth and says, voice an absolute mess: 

“I am so fucking in love with you, Eddie Kaspbrak. I hope there’s never a future for me where you’re not in it.” 

When he finally falls asleep, it’s to the image of Eddie curled up in his bed a few blocks away, and to the image of him sprinting down the highway, bare feet slapping against the hot asphalt and his face bared to the sun. 

**_~.~.~_ **

“W-what’s wrong with you?” 

Richie looks away from the ceiling, blinking tiredly. It’s a shitty day outside, all rain, lightning, and thunder, and he’s holed up in Bill’s room, trying to stay awake. Bill still hates it when it rains, because it reminds him of Georgie, and Richie had been the only person who was free to hang out with him. Not that he doesn’t love spending quality time with Bill, but Richie feels pulled apart and wadded back together today, and he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to distract Bill from the rain and his head. 

“I’m fine,” Richie says, in a way that clearly implies he’s anything but. “What’s wrong with you, besides your inability to mind your own business?” 

Bill gives him an unconvinced look. “Richie.” 

“Hey, it’s a valid question.” 

“Yeah? S-So’s mine.” 

Richie sighs deeply and rolls onto his side, clinging to one of Bill’s pillows. His glasses are pressing uncomfortably into his face, but he can’t be fucked to take them off, so he keeps them on, meeting Bill’s eyes where he’s sitting at his desk. Richie would rather perish than admit that Bill Denbrough’s pretty blue eyes comfort him more than just about anything else in his life, and the soft scent of cotton and boy that Richie always associates with him, the one that lingers on (or originates from?) his sheets. 

“I’m just tired,” he tells Bill, because it’s not actually a lie. 

He expects Bill to roll his eyes and say: “You and Eddie both,” or “Yeah right, Trashmouth,” or anything else amongst Bill’s brave, sometimes-confrontational repertoire. Instead, much to Richie’s surprise, Bill silently gets up and turns the lights off in his room, so that the only light they have is coming in from outside. And then Bill comes over to his bed and crawls in next to Richie, settling down onto his other pillow. 

Richie stares at him, and Bill stares back, until he asks again: “What’s wrong with you?” 

His eyes are so blue, and Richie loves him so much, but he doesn’t know if he can tell Bill since he’s barely able to tell himself. Lightning strikes outside, turning the room a brilliant indigo, and Bill flinches when a loud crash of thunder follows after, but his look never wavers and he keeps looking at Richie for an answer. 

Bill has always made him feel brave, and today is no exception, even though Richie’s skin crawls thinking about turning himself inside out. Bill’s hand is shaking a little where it’s curled up against his blanket, and Richie wordlessly reaches out to take it, keeping Bill in the room and not the sewers. Bill grips back, and flinches less at the next bolt of lightning and roar of thunder. 

Eventually, Richie takes a deep, uneven breath, and opens with: “Does Stan ever get distant?” 

Bill thinks about it for a moment. “What do you mean b-by ‘distant’, exactly?” 

“I mean--” Richie is absolute trash at explaining his thoughts and feelings if they aren’t wrapped up in one-liners, but he can’t gather the energy to be funny right now, even if the situation called for it. “Does he ever just, like, disappear inside himself? Get lost in his thoughts and pull away from you? Make you feel like you’re looking at him through a glass wall?” 

Bill’s face goes a little sad, clearly understanding the situation Richie is referring too. Richie hates himself for making him look like that, especially on a day like this, but he _has_ to know now that he’s said it out loud.

“S-Sometimes,” Bill agrees softly. “He’s just like the rest of us. He carries everything himself. He doesn’t want anyone to k-know that he’s beating on the other side of that g-g-glass wall.” 

Richie can only imagine. Stan might not do so well with scary stuff, but he’s one of the bravest people that Richie knows. The rest of them in the group who are queer really only have to handle the burden of being queer on a general, hated-by-society level. Stan is the only one of them who is super religious, and Richie knows that he has to fight with both parts of himself heavily every single fucking day of his life. And even though Bill acknowledges that sometimes Stan gets distant, Richie knows for a fact that Stan loves Bill with everything he’s got, and when it comes down to it, Stan is unflinching in this love he has for Bill. That he would stare down anyone or anything for Bill without failing, without a second thought. 

“How do you handle it?” Richie asks, and then asks, with a slight crack in his voice: “How do you _help_ him?” 

The sadness in Bill’s face melts into an expression so fond that it takes Richie’s breath away. “I handle it by remembering it’s n-not about me. It’s never about me. S-Stan’s a lot better at letting me in now, but he still h-hides a lot of his f-fear. I let him have his space and remind him that I’m here for him when he’s ready to t-talk.” 

Richie’s terrible at letting his friends suffer in silence. Just the thought of Stan crumbling and gluing himself back together without anyone but Bill knowing makes his insides twist uncomfortably. He stares at the scars all over Bill’s hands, from wiping out on Silver and tumbling around the quarry and fighting Pennywise and fighting a kid at school who made a pointed comment about the way Stan can’t help but curl into Bill’s side when he’s close. He stares at the story these scars make, almost all of which Richie has been present to witness the creation of, and tries to take a deep breath. 

Bill doesn’t push him, or get impatient, just lets him think as long as he needs to. Eventually, Richie takes his deep breath and says, very quietly: 

“I know that it’s… different, obviously, from you guys, but--I feel like Eddie’s been behind a glass wall for weeks now. Ever since school ended, he’s been stuck in his head more than he’s been out of it. And I know, I _know_ it’s not about me, but I feel like I haven’t seen him since summer started. I know it’s not about me, but I wish he would just tell me what the fuck is going on. Why he keeps holding me at arm’s length.” 

Bill’s other hand reaches out to touch his shoulder, and Richie realizes, at the familiar weight of it settling over his thin t-shirt, that he’s wheezing a little, like there’s something rattling around in his chest. 

“Hey,” Bill says, so soft and sweet that it nearly breaks Richie’s heart in two. “It’s not different. You’re not invalid, R-Richie. It’s okay, it’s okay to f-feel like that.” 

“I feel like it isn’t,” Richie fights, even though all he wants to do is sink into Bill’s comforting touch. “And I’m not talking about loving him. I know, figuratively, that it’s okay that I love him, even if everyone else doesn’t think so. But he’s not mine, Bill. He’s just my friend. I don’t think I deserve to worry so obsessively about why he won’t fucking talk to me when we’re not--when he doesn’t--” 

The rattling in his chest suddenly feels a lot like cracking, and Richie is embarrassed to note that he is milliseconds away from crying. If it were anyone besides Bill, he’d roll off the bed and flee, but he’s seen Bill cry more times than he can count, and he is so, so fucking exhausted from feeling like he has to hide everything. 

Bill looks at him so tenderly and lovingly that Richie almost does burst into tears, but he clenches his jaw to hold them back. 

“Rich, just b-because Stan and I are dating doesn’t mean that t-the way you feel about Eddie is different, or less. You love him more than anyone else I know. You love him more than you want to b-be with him, you know? You care more about his well-being than being his b-boyfriend. It’s okay that you want him to o-open up and talk to you about what he’s going through. You loving him and wanting to be there for him is enough without needing to be with him to d-deserve his trust, or whatever it is you keep telling yourself.” 

Richie still says nothing, afraid that if he opens his mouth he’ll burst. Bill keeps talking, soothing his hand across Richie’s hunched shoulders. 

“And I know that him not talking to you about why he’s being so d-distant is probably making you feel like he doesn’t want you around, r-right?” 

Richie whispers out a very harsh, strained: “Yeah,” without meaning to, fingers clenching around Bill’s. 

“I know how you feel,” Bill promises, giving him a small, understanding smile. “I always feel like that when Stan closes himself off. Even though I know it’s not my fault, or about me. I s-still feel helpless, and like I’m gonna lose him. But I never do, because Stan loves me, even though he has b-bad days, and struggles with himself a lot. I know he would never intentionally h-hurt me.” 

Bill squeezes his hand, even though Richie’s crushing hold on him must hurt, and tells him: 

“You’re the last person that Eddie would ever hurt. I know you don’t think or know it, but he l-loves you so much, Richie. He loves you the most. I know you’ll fight me on it, b-but it’s the truth. He loves you so fucking much, and he would never want to make you feel like he doesn’t c-care about you. He just doesn’t know how to let you in yet. He probably doesn’t want you to think differently of him.” 

He knows it’s useless and that telling Bill won’t change a goddamn thing, but he still says, with great emotion: “I’d _never_ fucking think differently of him! I just want me to let him help him, that stupid asshole!” And then, still with great emotion, but also with a hitch in his voice: “I love him so much, Bill. I can hardly stand it most of the time. I love him so much and I feel like every single day he gets farther and farther away from me. I couldn’t handle it if I lost him forever.” 

“I know, I know,” Bill whispers, voice hitching too. “I know how h-hard it is to watch him pull away without letting you go with him. And it never gets easier. But you just have to kn-know that he loves you and trust him to come back to you when he leaves. They--” 

Bill’s face screws up suddenly, like it’s taking all of his energy to hold back a wash of tears. Richie’s throat constricts, and the only thing that reels him in is Bill’s white knuckles around his own. 

When he talks again, his voice is thick and deep, and it breaks Richie’s heart. “They l-live differently than us, Rich. We just have to r-remember they have it d-differently.” 

“How?” Richie asks, voice shredded. 

Bill looks at him for a long moment, eyes impossibly blue and bright with pain. He looks haunted, and devastated, and completely exhausted, and Richie has never seen an expression that matches his own so precisely. He hates that it’s on Bill Denbrough. 

“We’re just ghosts,” Bill says eventually. “To our p-parents. We’re just ghosts, and we can come and go without them ever noticing. They hardly notice we’re there, unless they want someone to s-scream at. But S-Stan and Eddie--their parents watch every move they make. They can’t put a toe out of line without their parents seeing. We’re invisible, and they’re constantly watched, judged, and f-forced back into place. It’s different for them.” 

Richie’s thought that he was a ghost to his parents for his entire life, but hearing Bill say it out loud doesn’t make it easier. It makes him flinch, and then the lightning strikes outside, and Bill’s flinching, too, a bitten-off noise escaping his mouth. Richie brings his other hand up to curl around their joined ones, running his thumb over Bill’s straining knuckles. Bill releases a shaky breath, the fingers on Richie’s shoulder clenching around his shirt. 

“I’m s-s-sorry,” Bill says when he can, looking miserable. 

“Don’t,” Richie replies, forcing himself to be soft. “It’s not your fault. I know that’s just how it is.” 

Bill nods, letting out a deep breath through his nose. “The whole thing is f-fucked up. W-We just have to remember that a lot of it isn’t something we can r-really control. All we can do is b-b-be there for them. Eddie might be going through something right now, but he’ll never h-hurt you on purpose. Just give him some t-time, or try other ways to get him to o-open up to you.” 

Richie thinks about the time they walked home from the clubhouse and he asked where Eddie goes when he gets in his head. He thinks about Eddie calling him late at night, and saying that he’d run if he had the chance, but Richie keeps him where he needs to be. Richie knows Eddie said that he keeps him anchored, but all Richie can think about is Sonia Kaspbrak confining Eddie to their house and slowly sucking the life out of him. 

All he thinks and wonders is if he does the same, for the same reason she does it. To keep Eddie with him, regardless if he wants to stay. 

“I feel like I’m suffocating him.” Richie admits, barely above a scratch. “I try to help him, and get him to open up, but sometimes I--I feel like her.” 

Bill knows who he’s talking about without having to hear her name. “Richie--” 

“I know it’s not the same, but sometimes I feel like it is. Like I’d die if he left. Like my life would lose all meaning if he wasn’t in it. It’s creepy and obsessive and controlling, but I can’t fucking help it. He--” 

The hitch in his voice reappears and then spills over, like a spiderweb of cracks spreading out over a car windshield. He doesn’t realize he’s already crying until Bill says his name again and moves the hand off of his shoulder to his face, touch feather-light. Richie makes a choked noise and closes his eyes, unable to look at Bill’s wide-open face and whatever he’ll find there when the tears stop. 

“I’m so used to being alone. And you guys help with that, obviously. I love you guys so much. But Eddie--he makes me feel seen, like I’m not just a ghost wandering around for no fucking reason. He makes me feel like I’m important, and like I deserve to stick around and become someone. And if he finally decided I wasn’t good enough, o-or that I wasn’t worth seeing, I’d--” 

Richie chokes on words he’s been thinking every single day for years, long before Eddie starting shutting himself up in his thoughts. Bill wipes away the tears steadily falling down his cheeks, strong hold on Richie’s hand unwavering, and it pushes him to finish, to finally expose one of his deepest, darkest fears to someone he knows who shares the same one. 

“It’d fucking kill me,” Richie tells Bill, voice breaking. “It’d fucking kill me, Bill.” 

The rest of the sentence is lost when Richie lets out an abrupt sob. Bill makes a soft noise and moves until both arms are wrapped around Richie’s shoulders. He gently pulls Richie’s glasses off of his face and then pulls him close, one hand sliding up to the crown of Richie’s head. Richie tucks himself into Bill’s chest with another broken sob, hands fisting in front of his sweatshirt.

He cries for a long time, for so long that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop. Bill never says anything and never pulls away; he just holds onto Richie and lets him cry, the hand on the back of his head occasionally soothing down his curls. Richie feels completely full and completely empty at the same time, being held by someone he loves deeply and being held by someone who is not Eddie Kaspbrak. 

When Richie stops sobbing and is just quietly crying, Bill presses his cheek to the top of Richie’s head and tells him: 

“I’m always s-scared, too, Rich. I’m always scared that Stan’s g-gonna see that I’ll never be good enough for him, and he’ll just walk away. I know he l-loves me, maybe just as much as I love him, b-but I’m always afraid that it’ll never be enough. That _I’ll_ never be enough.” 

It takes a second for the words to sink in past the wall of _pain pain pain pain_ in Richie’s head. When he understands what Bill is saying, that Bill fucking Denbrough thinks that he’s not _good enough_ for anyone, let alone Stanley fucking Uris, two kings built from the same throne, he pulls back from his chest. The look he gives Bill could probably kill a lesser mortal, but Bill only winces. 

“You shut the fuck up,” Richie says with heat, but not anger. “You--you’re the best person I know, Bill. Without a fucking question. You are the most selfless, caring, and bravest person I’ve ever met, and you deserve so much. You think Stan would risk everything for someone who didn’t deserve it? If you think Eddie loves me, then you have no goddamn clue how much Stan loves you, dude.” 

Richie sees Bill’s big, kind eyes fill up with tears, but he doesn’t stop talking, doesn’t stop until he knows that Bill understands. 

“You know how much Stan loves you? He fights with his religion on a daily basis because he knows that whatever love he’s supposed to find there he’s already found with you. He risks being outed to his parents and the entire fucking synagogue every day because he loves you enough to fight himself and everyone he knows for it. He loves you so much that it made him realize how fucking brave he is, and now he can’t stop being brave. Because he started fighting for you, and now he fights for himself.” 

Bill manages to grit out his name, a mangled _“Richie,”_ and then he bursts into tears, too. It makes Richie’s start up again, and then they’re clinging to each other and crying terribly, weeks and months and years worth of pain, anger, and terror all coming out at once. As much as he hates to be serious or show any sort of aching, raw emotion, Richie finds himself strangely relieved to be sobbing with Bill on his bed and letting it all out. It relieves him to know that Bill, at least, can look at his demons and love him the same, and is able to show him his demons, too, without fearing that Richie will think him to be weak. He thinks, in between the gasping breaths and the yawning hole in his gut, that he loves Bill Denbrough enough to fight for him, and maybe someday he’ll love him enough to start fighting for himself too. 

Eventually, their tears stop, until they’re just wrapped around each other and breathing deeply. Richie reels himself back in piece by piece, using Bill’s fingers against his skull and his sweet cotton smell to ground himself. He doesn’t move out of Bill’s arms, and Bill doesn’t move out of his, like if they stop touching each other they’ll shake apart. Richie manages to unclench his fingers from Bill’s sweatshirt and moves his arms until they’re wrapped tightly around Bill’s sides, giving his hip a small, friendly pat. 

He feels Bill smile against the top of his head, and it makes him smile, a small, fragile thing, but a smile nonetheless. He also feels Bill swallow before hearing him say, over the sheet of rain outside and the steady thump of his heart: 

“You make Eddie brave, too.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You do,” Bill insists. “When he’s w-with you, it’s like he stops crawling on his knees and starts running as fast as he can. He stops l-looking before he leaps. You bring him to life.” 

Richie doesn’t think so, but he doesn’t have the heart to be even more bitter than he’s been thus far. So he just gives Bill’s hip another pat and tells him: 

“If you say so, Big Bill.” 

“I know so.” Bill says fiercely, and then kisses Richie fiercely on his crazy, unruly curls. “You’re incredible, T-Trashmouth. You deserve the whole wide world. And Eddie loves you like you’re his w-whole wide world.” 

If Richie thinks about this particular sentence for longer than a second, he’s going to start crying again, so he deflects and focuses on his breathing. 

“You’re _my_ whole wide world.” 

Bill snorts, and even though it sounds nasally and broken, it still settles the ache in Richie’s body just a little. “I k-know you are, but what am I?” 

Richie laughs, and when it becomes watery in the middle again, against his whole damn will, Bill laughs too and gives him another kiss. Richie sinks further into his hold and tightens his own. 

“I can do this all day, Denbrough. Don’t test me.” 

They try their best to one-up each other for a long time, but at some point Richie must drift off, because when he opens his eyes again, the room is almost completely dark and Bill is breathing deeply next to him. Richie is a little too warm and a lot super confused, unsure of what exactly woke him up. He hears a small scraping sound behind him, after a few beats of silence, and he stiffens, his hold on Bill going from comforting to protective in a second. 

“Who’s there?” Richie asks, voice rough. 

“It’s just me,” someone whispers back, and it takes a second for Richie’s sleep-addled brain to recognize the voice as Stan’s. 

“Stan?” Richie pulls his head away from Bill, who is beginning to stir too. “When did you get here?” 

“Just a few minutes ago.” A dark, teenage boy-sized blob moves, and through the dying skylight and single streetlight coming in from the window, Richie can just make out Stan’s golden curls and his red shirt. He can’t see his face too well, from a sweet combination of the dark and being completely fucking blind, but if Richie were a betting man, he’d say that Stan is smiling right now. “How come I wasn’t invited to the sleepover?” 

Richie is about to come up with some smartass response when Bill stirs again, and takes one hand off of Richie’s shoulders to rub his face. 

“S-Stan?” 

His voice is unbearably soft, and a little confused, and Richie’s heart melts when he hears it. Stan lets out a small, adoring noise that makes Bill smile against the crown of Richie’s head. Richie feels a hand brush over his knee, poke it, and then move to Bill’s, where it stays. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” Stan tells him. “I was asking Richie why you didn’t invite me to the sleepover.” 

“O-Oh,” Bill says, an endearing combination of unsure and completely, totally smitten. “It was an a-accident. We were talking, and then we just fell asleep, I guess.” 

Richie, whose eyes have finally adjusted to the dark, can see it when Stan’s face changes. He must see the puffiness around their eyes that Richie can most definitely feel, and the way Richie is clinging onto Bill like he’ll have to be pried off with a crowbar to think about letting go. Richie is still blind as a fucking bat, but he can see when Stan puts two and two together, and when his amused face goes concerned. 

Before he asks what’s going on, what happened to them, Richie untangles his arms from around Bill and uses them to tug on Stan’s shirt. 

“Looks like you just received an invitation to the sleepover,” he says pointedly. “Effective immediately.” 

“I have to go home soon,” Stan argues, but it’s half-hearted, and way less convincing than Richie’s invitation to cuddle with them. He climbs onto Bill’s bed without further prompting and proceeds to wriggle in between them, back to Bill’s front and facing Richie. “My parents will wonder where I am.” 

“Don’t they always.” Richie sighs, and he knows Stan can hear the lack of bite to it, because he curls both arms around Richie’s neck like Bill did and pulls him in. Richie pushes his face into Stan’s front and wraps his arms around his thin waist, breathing in the familiar scents of vanilla and cinnamon. It works like a fucking charm, just like Bill’s warm cotton and earthy scent. “They can wait. You’re ours now.” 

“Worth the yelling,” Stan mumbles, like he’s already falling asleep. Richie thinks of the way he always unwinds when he’s near Bill, and then thinks that maybe he really is already falling asleep. 

“Worth it,” Richie repeats, and then he’s asleep again, too, both arms crushing Stan close and one of his hands curled into the material of Bill’s sweatshirt to keep them all pressed together. 

Before he drifts all the way off, Richie feels Bill reach out to squeeze one of his wrists, and feels Stan press his face into his bedraggled curls, and finds that he’s calm for the first time in weeks. He almost cries again, but instead, he lets himself rest and pulls Stan and Bill along with him. 

**_~.~.~_ **

A few weeks later, on a day with no clouds and a blistering, blinding sun to match, they decide to spend the whole day at the quarry. Everyone is assigned tasks and things to bring with them, and Richie’s task is to assemble snack items with Eddie and Bill. 

Richie doesn’t have food at home to smuggle out, so he scrapes some money together and grabs a bag of apples and a few bags of chips at the store on his way to Eddie’s. Bill is already there when he arrives, and when Richie lets himself into the Kaspbraks’ house, he notes that Bill brought along a giant watermelon and the biggest bag of Chex Mix he has probably ever seen. 

“Holy shit,” he says in lieu of an actual greeting. “That’s the biggest fucking watermelon I’ve ever seen. How did you carry that over here?” 

“He strapped it to the handlebars of his bike like it was toddler!” Eddie yells, obviously delighted. “It was so fucking funny to see him unstrapping it when he got here.” 

“J-Just call me Baby,” Bill says. 

Richie laughs and lightly shoves him. He produces his spoils for the others to see, rustling the plastic grocery bags for effect. 

“Mom and Pop didn’t have anything lying around, so I did the best I could. It’s certainly no toddler-sized watermelon, but it’ll probably do.” 

“Looks good to me,” Eddie tells him sincerely. “You’ll probably get to take it home since everyone’s going to gorge themselves on Bill’s watermelon.” 

Bill makes a face. “I don’t think… I like how you phrased that.” 

Eddie, who seems to be in an excellent mood, just gives Bill a lascivious wink. Richie grins at the sight of it; Eddie’s been more present and like himself in the last week than he has all summer, and Richie finally feels like he’s standing on solid ground again. The combination of cathartically sobbing in Bill’s bed and Eddie climbing out of his own head has basically turned the whole fucking break around. 

“I’m bringing some snacks, too,” Eddie continues, waving a hand at the counter behind him. True to his nature, there is a whole spread of snacks that have been individually cut, packaged, and presented for each member of their group. Seven beautifully assembled tupperware containers full of various fruits, veggies, and pretzels all lined up together in a row. Something about it makes Richie swoon. “And if everyone gorges themselves on Bill’s watermelon, I’m sure Mike and Ben will eat everything else since they’re a pair of fucking body builders.” 

Richie thinks of Mike and Ben, who are both, somehow, still fucking growing. Where Richie is tall and skinny, like a broom, Mike and Ben are both tall and bulking up on more muscle than they know what to do with, like twin Terminators. They eat everything in sight and it all goes right to their arms, which Richie is admittedly very jealous of. 

“Fuckers,” Richie sighs, voice affectionate. “All right, let’s go, bitches. We got swimmin’ to do and food to be eaten.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes but complies, carefully fitting all of their snack containers into a bag. For just a moment, Richie is thrown back to That Summer, when the three of them were sneaking snacks out of Eddie’s house in preparation for going down to the sewers. He sees Eddie struggling to reach even the bottom shelf of the snacks, and Bill easily stretching above him to get some kind of Debbie Cake. He sees Eddie in his tiny red shorts and Bill in his cut-off jean shorts. And then he blinks and Eddie is tall enough to reach almost all the shelves in his house, and Bill is tall enough to reach just about anything in Eddie’s house. He blinks and Eddie is in a respectable pair of navy shorts and Bill is in a pair of actual jean shorts, not just an old pair of jeans he took scissors to. 

Eddie takes Bill’s Chex Mix and Richie’s apples and chips and lays them carefully over the top of his snack containers so that “neither of you crush them while you’re riding around like Ferris Bueller in that Ferrari.” Richie, in turn, helps Bill carry his enormous watermelon back out to his bike and strap it in. 

“Why’d you take it off in the first place?” Richie gripes, not meaning it. “Eds is gonna be swan diving and synchronized swimming with Staniel before we even get it strapped back on.” 

“Fuck you, Trashmouth,” Eddie says pleasantly, at the same time that Bill says, “I d-didn’t want anyone to steal it.” 

“Bill, I can assure you that no one would have stolen it. They couldn’t even get it off of Eddie’s lawn without pulling a muscle and leaving it for dead.” 

“I feel like ‘they’ is y-you, in this scenario.” Bill teases, but his grin is wide and loving, and all Richie can do is grin back. 

Once the watermelon is secured, they take off towards the quarry. Eddie and Bill ride carefully to protect their precious cargo and Richie rides like he always does, legs sometimes kicked out or his hands windmilling around his head or occasionally making an obnoxious circle around the other two, singing Bon Jovi lyrics as loud as he can. Eddie snaps at him to stop riding like a jackass, but the heat behind the words is basically nonexistent and Richie can see that his wide, easy smile never drops. 

They’re the last but certainly not least ones to arrive. When they ride up to the grassy knoll they usually store their bikes on, the others are setting up shop just a few feet away. Stan was in charge of bringing blankets and both of them are stretched out as far as they’ll go, a backpack on each corner to keep them down. Ben brought his boombox and a series of cassettes, and his copy of _Out of Time_ by R.E.M. is playing quietly at the farthest corner of the blankets. Beverly was in charge of bringing drinks, and Richie sees Stan already poking through her cooler, probably searching for something sweet. And Mike was in charge of bringing the portable grill his grandfather let him use sometimes, and his own cooler full of lunch stuff, and Richie sees them both propped up next to Bev’s cooler. 

“Finally!” Bev says in greeting. “Took you dickheads long enough.” 

“Sorry!” Richie replies, voice falsely apologetic. “We had to help Bill with the baby.” 

Stan stops digging through Bev’s cooler and turns slowly, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Pardon?” 

Richie repeats himself, “The baby, Stanley!” and then moves so that the others can see Bill’s watermelon. He slaps it for effect, and everyone stares, not quite believing what they’re looking at. 

“That,” Ben decides, some seconds later. “Is _the_ biggest watermelon I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” 

“How did he even carry that out of the store?” Mike wonders out loud, eyeing Bill’s wiry arms suspiciously. 

“Did it cost you an entire week’s paycheck?” Bev asks, to which Bill makes a so-so hand gesture in answer. 

Stan says nothing. He slowly walks up to the watermelon and carefully tugs at the rope still tied around it, eyes wide. And then, after some poking and prodding, he looks up at Bill, smile soft and amazed, and asks him: 

“What should we name her?” 

Bill laughs so loudly that it echoes over the quarry, every corner of their world filled with the sound of Bill Denbrough completely losing it. They all laugh too, helpless to do anything but follow their leader, and when he can breathe again, Bill tells Stan: “Let’s name her Francis!” and Stan’s hammed up look of amazement turns completely genuine. Richie sweetly calls them a pair of freaks, knowing that Bill and Stan are cheesy idiots who love watching _Dirty Dancing_ together, and heads over to the blankets to stretch out. 

Richie gets ten blessed minutes of laying in the sun before Eddie is prodding him with a foot. 

“Get up, Rich--it’s time to swim!” 

“It’s time to go to sleep!” Richie whines, but does as he’s told. He peels out of his clothes until he’s in nothing but his hideous Hawaiian swimming trunks, flowers all bright and clashing. 

“You could stop traffic with those,” Eddie points out, donning his plain red swimming trunks. 

Richie carelessly tosses his glasses on top of his clothes and throws himself towards Eddie, wiggling his fingers. “I’ll show you how to stop traffic!” 

Eddie yells and tries to hide behind Mike, but Richie is faster than him by just seconds. He digs his fingers into Eddie’s ribs, tickling him a little, and while Eddie is busy shrieking and trying to shove Richie off of him, Richie scoops him up and takes them towards the water. Eddie is screaming and hollering and still trying to push Richie off of him, but he’s laughing, too, bright and free, and when Richie jumps off of one of the smaller cliffs into the water, Eddie clings tightly to him and lets it happen. When they surface, Eddie is still holding onto Richie, and Richie is still holding onto Eddie, and Eddie reaches one hand up to push his hair out of his eyes. He tilts his head back and lets out another loud, careless laugh, one that echoes inside the walls of the quarry even more than Bill’s did, and Richie stares at him. He wishes that he was still wearing his glasses so that he could take in the sight of Eddie grinning recklessly in its full effect, but they’re close enough that he can pretty much see everything anyway. 

While he’s staring at all of Eddie’s teeth and the light redness in his cheeks, Eddie calls up to the others: “What the fuck are you waiting for?” Richie would bet, based on the fact that no one immediately moves, that they are also enchanted by Eddie’s unbidden joy. But eventually, there’s a splash, and then another, and then a few more, and all the Losers are in the water, surrounding the two of them. It takes a snort and a light splash from Beverly to get him to look away from Eddie, who is still clinging to Richie and grinning like it’s the best day of his life. He sees the outlines of the face she makes him, and he makes one back, hoping that the flush creeping up his neck can be blamed on the sun. 

“Well, you got us all out here,” Mike says, clearly amused. “What’s on the agenda first?” 

Eddie digs his fingers into Richie’s shoulders, replies with: “What’s always on the agenda first?” and pushes himself through the water until he’s wrapped around Richie’s back. Bev catches on quickly, calling out: “Bill, it’s our time to shine!” across the circle. Bill willingly goes to her side, letting Bev climb up onto his shoulders just like every other time they play Chicken. Stan loudly claims Ben as his steed, and Mike helps him climb onto his shoulders, Ben taunting Bill and Bev with: “Your boyfriends are taking you _the hell down!”_

Richie hardly ever gets to have Eddie as his Chicken partner, since they usually spend too much time fighting each other and making the others mad to get paired up. But today, Eddie is apparently on top of the world, and Richie is so calmed to see him and everyone else in the best of moods that he doesn’t tease Eddie about making them lose with his tiny stature. He knows that they are going to be a rage machine. 

“Help me up,” Eddie says to him, tapping his arms. 

Richie lowers himself into the water and pushes Eddie up by the balls of his feet so that he can clamber onto Richie’s shoulders. It normally takes them a whole minute to get Eddie situated, since Richie always tickles him and Eddie always pulls his hair in return, but today, Eddie is firmly on Richie’s shoulders and ready to fight in less than ten seconds. Once he’s seated, Richie secures his arms around Eddie’s knees to keep him on, and Eddie pats the sides of his face in thanks. Richie feels like he could die the happiest man in the entire galaxy just like this, Eddie wrapped around him, the sun warm on his skin, and the rest of his friends grinning widely at the sight of them. 

Once everyone is ready to go, Mike raises both arms into the air and looks between the three sets, face overly serious. 

“Racers, start your engines!” he yells. 

Bev pulls on Bill’s ears, and Bill makes an obnoxious engine sound accordingly; Stan simply tells Ben: “Start, engine,” and Ben does, making an equally obnoxious engine sound; Eddie twists his small body until his mouth is next to Richie’s ear and he says: “Let’s kick their fucking asses!” and Richie makes the loudest engine sound he can, feeling like he could fight God himself at Eddie’s words. 

“On the count of three!” Mike yells again. “One… two… three!” 

When Mike’s hands hit the water on ‘three’ Bill immediately charges towards Richie, and Ben immediately charges towards Bill. Richie grabs Eddie’s legs hard enough that it must hurt and runs towards Bill, hollering wildly. Bill and Bev are almost always Chicken partners and they have a good system worked out; Richie knows that he’s going to have to go all in to beat them. Eddie tucks himself in close to Richie’s head, obviously knowing the same, and Richie doesn’t have to be looking at him to know the expression on his face is deadly. 

The six of them meet in a wild clash of limbs and loud screams. Richie gets an elbow to the face from Stan, and retaliates by punching him on the thigh, and then punches Ben’s arm for good measure. 

“Hands to yourself, Richie!” Ben yells.

“That’s not what your mom said last night, Haystack!” he crows, and does a move that both prevents Ben from punching him for real and gets Eddie a better angle to shove at Beverly. Beverly yells and shoves Eddie back, but Richie knows Eddie’s weight better than his own and how to hold it, and Eddie doesn’t even wobble. “Fuck yeah, Kaspbrak! Let’s fucking do this thing!” 

Eddie makes another loud screaming sound at this and pushes Beverly with more force. She slides off of Bill’s shoulders just an inch before Bill secures her again, and though they recover well, Richie can see the sliver of fear in Bill’s expressive eyes. It makes him grin wide enough that it probably looks like a sneer. 

They’re so focused on destroying Bev and Bill that Richie forgets about Ben and Stan until it’s almost too late. Ben positions himself so that Stan can get a big, bony hand underneath one of Eddie’s and Beverly’s arms and fling them backwards. Bev yells and has to wrap her other arm around Bill’s head to stay on, laughing loudly, and Eddie has to clamp his under Richie’s chin like he’s going to choke him out. Stan cheers, hands waving enthusiastically, and the way Bill grins up at him makes Richie go warm with affection. 

Eddie and Beverly must make some sort of wordless agreement to take Stan out first before dealing with each other, because when Eddie shifts again, Bev does the same, and suddenly they’re both shoving Stan as hard as they can. Richie and Bill turn to help them, and when Stan is shoved off of the ledge of Ben’s shoulders, Richie helps them out by sending a big wave of water over Ben’s face. Ben splutters, taking one hand off of Stan’s shoulders to rub at his eyes, and Eddie and Bev coordinate a final push that leaves Stan clinging to Ben with only his knees. 

“Fuck you guys!” Stan shouts, but he’s laughing uncontrollably. 

Richie hits Eddie’s knee once and then gets a hand under one of Stan’s ankles. Eddie notices and takes Stan’s other ankle, and they work together to shove him right off of Ben and into the water. The momentum takes Ben down with him, and they both get thrown underwater with muffled swears and a huge splash. 

When Stan and Ben emerge from the water, they’re both cracking up and shoving hair out of their faces. Stan moves to curl up on Ben’s back again, and Ben lets him, hooking his arms under Stan’s knees and walking them over to where Mike is still acting as their referee. 

“I hope you both perish and no one wins,” Ben says to the four of them. “Next time, Stan and I are going to be the undefeated champions.” 

“I don’t think so, H-Hanscom,” Bill teases, splashing both of them. “I think our s-streak is the only one that counts for something.” 

Beverly adds in: “Damn fucking right!” and moves the arm around Bill’s head down in front of them. Bill pulls one off of her knee and they lock hands, looking for all intents and purposes like a pair of blood brothers ready to take on the world. 

Richie turns himself and Eddie towards the other two again, straightening his shoulders. Eddie straightens up, too, ready to go back into the fray. 

“I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here.” Richie says. 

“Yeah, we’re not quite done,” Eddie taunts, cracking his knuckles for show. “Your streak’s gonna mean dogshit once we fucking obliterate you two.” 

Bev and Bill also straighten up at these words, turning into the familiar, well-oiled Chicken machine they are between one blink and the next. Richie would rather eat a mattress than admit that he’s a little nervous to be facing them directly. 

“Oh, is that so?” Bill asks them, voice deadly serious. It makes Richie’s grip on Eddie’s knees tighten, and when he feels it, Eddie rests a calming hand on Richie’s head, as if to say _Steady, partner._ “How many times have we won Chicken together, Bev?” 

Bev thinks about it, letting out a bunch of “Huuuuuh,”s and “Ummmm,”s before declaring: “Oh, yeah, at least fifty.” 

“Wow, isn’t that s-something? And how many times have Richie and Eddie won?” 

Beverly makes another long “Huuuuuuuuh,” sound and then announces, all venom: “Only _once!”_

“Maybe so,” Richie concedes, shifting into a more comfortable stance. “But now we’re going to make it twice, asswipes.” 

“And maybe even more than that, since I know you’ll demand a re-do once we destroy you!” Eddie finishes for him. 

Eddie shifts to get more comfortable, too, and then, for extra protection and leverage, crosses his feet at the ankles over Richie’s sternum. Richie moves both arms until they’re locked around Eddie’s shins like iron bars, and Eddie draws his knees so that they’re more of a single entity than the fighter on top of his pillar. Richie knows that, statistically speaking, it’s more likely than not that Bill and Beverly will end up winning just like they always do, but this round of Chicken feels different. Usually, when he has to pair up with Eddie, they end up fighting and sabotaging each other. But today, it feels like they’re just like the other two: moving like they already know how each other is going to move. 

Beverly gets comfortable in her perch on Bill’s shoulders and gives them a lazy grin. “Why don’t you boys put your money where your mouths are, then?” 

Eddie cracks his final knuckle. “We’re ready when you are.” 

Mike takes this as his cue to raise both arms into the air again. “Final round, on the count of three! One… two… three!” 

When his hands drop into the water again, Richie lets Bill come to him. He and Bev are clearly confident in their ability to maintain their streak, and Richie is counting on it making them sloppy. He taps Eddie’s shins in time with Bill’s rapid hopping, a nonverbal request to wait before making a move, and Eddie sits like he’s frozen. He sits and waits until the other two are finally in touching distance, and when Bill makes his final jump, Richie squares his shoulders and pushes Eddie forward like a jousting lance. 

It has the desired effect: Bill is all leg and confidence and no real balance, and Eddie’s firm, steady shove to Beverly’s shoulders almost sends them back into the water. 

“Holy shit!” Mike yells, laughing. “They might finally get their asses handed to them.” 

“You’re supposed to remain unbiased!” Beverly screams, just as Eddie executes another well-aimed push against her torso. “Fuck you, Kaspbrak, I’m not going down that easily!” 

“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, then?” he mimics, and Richie would pay a million dollars to see the fire that is no doubtedly burning in his eyes. He can see the second that Beverly shifts into Megatron mode, and all Richie can really think is that he’s glad he’s not on the receiving end of it. 

From that point on, it’s Eddie and Bev’s game, and Richie and Bill are just along for the ride. Richie does what he was born to and holds onto Eddie as tightly as he possibly can, and tries to angle his body in any way that will let Eddie shove Bev without also throwing them both off balance. For the first time in a long time, the fight is pretty equally matched, and he feels like it might go on forever. Eddie throws and takes every blow just as well as Bev, and Richie’s sheer determination to keep Eddie up is about on the same level as Bill’s experience with holding Bev up. 

Bill is the one who makes the pivotal move. Eddie wobbles violently from a shove that Bev lands on his shoulders, and Richie shouts a little in his attempt to keep Eddie steady. The sight of Richie tilting and gritting his teeth makes Bill laugh, and then makes him say: 

“Bev and I are the undefeatable duo! Y-You’ll never be as good as us!” 

There’s a moment of stillness, where Richie and Eddie don’t move, and Bev and Bill grin obnoxiously at them. Richie feels Eddie’s thighs tense around his neck, and Richie decides that these two sons of bitches are going down immediately. 

“Oh, yeah?” Richie says slowly, and then moves his arms until the iron bar of them is over Eddie’s tensed thighs. “Explain this to me then, cocks!” 

And then, in a move that would go down in history, in a move that none of the Losers would be able to recreate in a game of Chicken ever again, Richie lunges forward at the same time that Eddie gets one hand on the center of Bev’s solar plexus and the other hooked under the bend of her knee and cleanly throws her off of Bill’s shoulders. Bill only stumbles a little as her legs slide through the circle of his arms, but other than that, he remains perfectly still as Bev sails through the air, almost in slow motion, and then disappears underwater with an explosive splash. 

Everyone is completely fucking silent as they wait for Bev to come back up, all in a state of shock. After a beat, two, three, her bright curls reappear and a loud, shocked gasp follows them, eyes and mouth wide and pointed in Richie and Eddie’s direction. She uses both hands to shove her hair back, and then declares, almost reverently: 

“Holy fucking shit.” 

And the Losers collectively lose their minds. 

Mike is the first to reach them, and he pulls Eddie right off of Richie’s shoulders and into his arms, cheering loudly. Eddie cheers just as loudly and hugs him back, but lifts one fist into the air when he sees Stan pump up both of his. Ben walks himself and Stan over to Richie and they both throw their arms around him and squeeze tightly, screaming right into his ear. It pulls Richie out of his state of shock and he ends up screaming louder than anyone, arms flung over Ben’s and Stan’s shoulders. When he catches Bev and Bill holding onto each other and trying not to smile, he flips them off with both fingers and it breaks them, their loud laughter joining the cacophony of cheers and “I can’t believe you pulled that off!”s coming from the other boys. 

After an appropriate amount of whooping, Mike unceremoniously drops Eddie back into the water like the little ball of rage that he is. When he comes up, Eddie is still cheering wildly and grinning like his face is stuck that way. He swims over to Richie and wedges himself in between the other two to wrap his arms around Richie’s shoulders, plastering them back together. 

“You Losers can suck it!” Eddie declares. 

“Ditto,” Bev teases, sticking her tongue out at them, but Eddie just sticks his tongue out at her too. 

“How does it feel to suuuuuuuck?” Richie asks, getting in on the taunting. He feels like he could fist fight God _and_ Satan, high off of the win and the wet slide of Eddie’s ribs against his. 

Bill fake-scowls. “Probably the same as you f-feel every other time we play Chicken.” 

“Well, not today!” Eddie yells, tipping his head back. Richie is helpless to do anything but stare at the arch of his neck, and the water caught along the seam of his pink mouth. “Today, victory is ours!” 

“And ours, since you jackasses finally lost!” Stan announces, and then slithers out of Ben’s hold to approach the other two. “In fact, I’d like to get some of my own payback in right now--” 

Stan pounces on Bill without warning, and the two of them go down in a heap. Richie hears Bill’s scream right before the water swallows them up, his kicking feet the last to go. When they resurface, Stan is laughing madly and giving his boyfriend an epic noogie, chanting: “You lost, you lost, you lost!” 

Bev is too busy laughing to notice Ben creeping up behind her until he has her by the waist. She shrieks and immediately tries to wrestle out of his hold, but her laughter drastically lessens the fight. 

“Put me down or we’re over!” Beverly threatens, just like she always does when Ben does this. “I swear, Ben, if you don’t let me go--” 

Ben laughs deeply. “You want me to let you go?” 

“Yeah, that’s what I said!” 

Richie cackles at the conniving look on Ben’s face, just as Ben tells Beverly: “Well, if you insist, babe!” and launches her back into the water. Bev goes down again with another shriek and a large splash of water. They expect her to come up immediately and throw herself at Ben, but once she disappears under the surface, she doesn’t reappear right away. Richie keeps watching for her, but the seconds keep ticking by without even a slight ripple in the surface of the lake. He shares a brief, concerned glance with Ben, who is starting to look guilty, and then he’s being pulled underwater with his own shout. 

When he floats up moments later, Beverly is wrapped around him like an octopus, laughing maniacally. Ben is choking on whatever water he swallowed when Bev pulled him down, but he’s laughing too, and even presses a kiss to her forehead after admitting: “Okay, I guess I deserved that.” 

While the others are jumping on each other, and then Beverly is jumping on Mike, too, yelling about how he should have let them win the fight to keep their streak, Eddie keeps a tight hold around Richie. They watch Beverly scale Mike’s long torso, and watch Ben act on his own revenge against Bill, and then Eddie leans in and asks him: 

“You gonna get your hits in?” 

And Richie, in a moment of pure honesty, responds with: “Nah, I’m good where I am.” 

He probably imagines it, but for a second he thinks that Eddie’s heartbeat speeds up at his words. He knows it’s all in his head, though, that the only person whose heart is galloping off where it shouldn’t go is his own, so he doesn’t let the thought continue. He just stands and watches his friends dunk each other and holds the love of his life tightly to his side. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Eddie leans their heads together, content to stand back and watch, too. “Yeah, I’m good from over here.” 

Richie almost cries from how full of love he is. Eddie next to him, all of his friends spread out in front of him, clearly having the time of their lives. There are so many moments they’ve had recently where someone was crying or someone was angry or someone was feeling worn out and tired of just fucking living, and not nearly enough moments like this. Where everyone is laughing, smiling, and looking breathtakingly animate. 

Instead of saying any of that out loud, he pulls Eddie closer and watches Stan steal a kiss from Bill before shoving his head underwater again, and tries to memorize everything happening around him for a later date when he’s back to wondering how they’ll ever make it out of this hellish town alive. 

**_~.~.~_ **

It’s later, nearly dinner time, when Richie gets Eddie all to himself. After the momentous game of Chicken, they’d splashed around in the water for almost another hour before Mike loudly declared it was time for lunch. They’d dragged themselves out of the water and onto Stan’s spread of blankets, snacking and yelling over each other while Mike fired up the portable grill. He made them burgers so good that it nearly brought tears to Richie’s eyes, and moved Ben to ask for Mike’s hand in marriage, Beverly agreeing that she could be their officiant. After that, they either went back into the water or stayed on the blankets to talk and snack some more. At one point, Richie had made a pointed comment about Beverly’s Chicken skills that prompted her to challenge him to a one-on-one duel, and they spent a half an hour doing stupid shit in the water to see who was the real champion, or whatever. 

And now he’s on the highest cliff in the quarry, the evening sun on his shoulders, his friends fucking around in the water below, and Eddie right by his side. 

Eddie is quiet again, after a day of screaming and projecting his voice over Richie’s yelling, Stan’s arguing, and Mike’s loud laughter. But he’s not quiet in the way Richie has come to fear; his eyes are closed, but his smile is serene, and he looks rooted into his spot on the cliff. When Richie gently leans their shoulders together, just to make sure, Eddie hums softly and presses back before swaying away, and it settles the rocking in Richie’s stomach. 

Below them, Richie watches as the fun teasing turns into a rematch for Chicken between Bill, Bev, Ben, and Stan. This time, though, it’s Ben and Beverly against Bill and Stan, and Richie grins when he hears snatches of their conversation float up to them. Pieces of Beverly saying that she and Ben could kick their asses any day, for any reason, and Stan saying that that’s what she said last time before Eddie rocket-launched her into the water and effectively killed her streak. 

Eddie hears it, too, and laughs softly. It pushes Richie to finally break their comfortable silence, his eyes carefully tracing over the freckles on Eddie’s skin and the loose curl of his hair. 

“We fucking destroyed them. Bev’s going to be bitter about it for years.” 

“Bev?” Eddie asks, surprised. “Bill’s the one we’re going to have to worry about. He can carry a grudge better than you can ruin a normal conversation.” 

“Hey!” Richie laughs, also surprised. “I was trying to have a bonding moment with you, _partner,_ and you totally just blew me off.” 

Eddie cracks one eye open to look at him, and Richie hates the way it immediately turns his stomach into knots again. “Funny--if I remember correctly, it was me who won the game, no?” 

“Fuck you very much, Eddie Spaghetti! I was the reason you stayed in for so long to begin with!” 

“I was the one who had to fight Beverly and Stan!” 

“I helped you push Stan off, at least!” Richie says, trying and failing to sound even just a little bit pissed off. “We worked together on that! And I also got one of Stanley’s pointy fucking elbows right into my ocular cavity, no thanks to your blocking techniques!” 

“You’re gonna get another pointy fucking elbow right into your ocular cavity if you don’t shut the fuck up!” 

“See if I help you win the next time we play Chicken, you pretentious piece of shit!” 

Eddie surges close to him, like he’s really going to punch Richie right in the eye, and then he bursts into loud, delighted laughter and Richie follows. They laugh so hard that they end up spread out on their backs, hands pressed to their guts and their knees knocking together. Richie laughs so hard it hurts, and listens to Eddie laugh so hard that he wheezes, and thinks that if he weren’t so fucking happy he’d probably be sobbing right now, trying to cling desperately to this feeling. 

When they can breathe again without laughing, they lay on their sides, facing each other. Eddie is resting his chin against the fold of his arms, but Riche has his cheek pressed to the warm rock underneath them, trying to keep his head where it should be. He has to press his palm down on the rock, too, to keep it from finding Eddie’s flushed jaw. 

The way he feels about Eddie must be all over his face. He’s usually pretty good about keeping a lid on it, or deflecting any unwanted attention by pressing loud, obnoxious kisses to Ben’s cheeks or wrapping himself around Stan, despite his pointy fucking elbows. Anything to keep Eddie close but not too close. But he knows at this moment, with Eddie spread out next to him, their sun-warm skin _justbarely_ touching, and the sight of laughter lines creasing around his gorgeous eyes for the first time in what feels like years, Richie is failing epically at keeping his thoughts to himself. 

He thinks that Eddie can see it clearly, if his searching, curious eyes are anything to go by, and Richie knows he’ll have to distract because keeping a lid on his feelings is not a fucking option right now. 

But then Eddie surprises him by saying: “I had the best time today,” in the softest voice Richie has probably ever heard him use. He looks so _happy,_ Richie thinks dizzily, happier than he’s been in ages. Like nothing could have fixed him up better than a day at the quarry with his friends. Like he would rather be nowhere else in the entire goddamn galaxy than on this cliff next to Richie, warm skin pressed against the warm rock and their knees still tangled together. 

So Richie gives into himself a little, and doesn’t try to hide the emotion in his voice when he admits: “Me too, Eds.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie sighs, but it’s breathy and blissful and the grin that follows make Richie’s breath hitch. “I think I really needed a day to just be myself.” 

This confuses him a little. “What are you talking about? You’re always supposed to be yourself around us, dummy.” 

Eddie flips him off, but it’s lukewarm at best. “I wasn’t talking about you guys, _dummy._ I meant with myself.” 

“You needed a day to be yourself with yourself?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, and even though Richie doesn’t totally understand, he tries his best. “I just needed a day to let myself live in the moment, and make the day how I wanted it to be.” 

“That’s how you should live every day,” Richie replies, but it’s lukewarm at best. He knows more than almost everyone in this fucking town, besides the other Losers, how freeing it will be the day he gets to leave Derry and never come back. It’s hard to stay in the moment and not watch the days trickle by. “You shouldn’t be worrying so much about the future. Not if it’s going to make you space out the way it does.” 

Eddie hums, because he knows it’s not that easy, either. “I know. I need to live more like you and Bev.” 

“How’s that?” Richie asks him, and hopes to God that Eddie won’t say _Scared out of your fucking minds._

“Without giving a fuck. You guys live life by punching through it. Living on the edge, if you will.” 

Richie thinks of Bev and almost gets angry, hearing it put that way. They both have their reasons for living like they’ll blow up anything put in their way. Bev punches through life to show that she’ll punch through anyone who tries to pin her down, and Richie punches through life so that no one will ever take him seriously, or take a look at what sits right underneath his blasé, careless attitude. They just might give the biggest fuck in the entire group, about everything. 

Instead of saying any of that out loud, or getting angry, Richie scoffs rudely and tells him: 

“You couldn’t live on the edge if it bit you in the ass, Kaspbrak.” 

This is usually when Eddie would scowl and make some sort of volatile comeback, maybe: “Yeah, well I’m going to kick your fucking ass, Tozier!” or: “What kind of fucking edge do you live on, idiot? The edge of flunking out of gym? _Again?”_ Richie sits and waits for it, shoulders tensed, but Eddie doesn’t say anything like that. 

Instead, he laughs again, still loose and carefree, and pushes himself to his knees. 

“Oh, I couldn’t, Trashmouth?” 

“I said what I said,” Richie agrees. “Mrs. K would have a heart attack if you did half the shit Bev and I do, and I’d be forced to give her mouth-to-mouth to bring her back. Actually, on that note--” 

Eddie punches him neatly in the sternum. “Beep beep, asshole.” 

And then he stands up, stretching languidly. Any and all taunts immediately dry up in Richie’s mouth, and he’s helpless to do anything but watch Eddie twist this way and that, graceful and lean and so beautiful it hurts to fucking look at him. 

Eventually, Eddie peers down at him again. With the sun at his back, lighting his hair on fire and catching in the corner of his brash grin, he looks like an archangel. Richie peers back and longs to kneel at Eddie’s feet. 

“You’re probably right,” Eddie concedes. “I’ve never lived my life on the edge, except for that one day.” 

They don’t name the day. They don’t need to--Richie will never forget the feeling of gripping onto the back of Eddie’s shirt when Eddie went charging after Bill. He will never forget the sound of Eddie, covered head to toe in clown vomit, screaming at Pennywise and threatening to kill him. He will never, ever forget the sight of Eddie’s foot connecting squarely with Pennywise’s face, or the look of pure, unflinching rage that followed it. 

That was the moment, the moment that Eddie looked down at his nose at Pennywise’s writhing form with nothing but bravery and hatred on his face, that Richie knew he was in love with him. 

Eddie turns his head when he sees Richie remember, and says, voice drifting down to him: 

“But maybe I could start.” 

Richie watches one of Eddie’s feet step away from where he’s still spread out, and then the other, the sound of smooth, bare skin dragging across the surface of the cliff making him shiver. Eddie walks like every weight ever placed on his shoulders is now gone, like he really might float away if he’s not careful. It makes Richie push himself up onto his hands, breath sticking to the inside of his throat.

“Eddie--” 

Eddie carefully walks up to the edge of the cliff, arms extending out on either side of him. They’ve all played their own version of Chicken on the edge of the cliff, trying to see how far they can bend over the edge before falling or backing away, but this time, Eddie’s eyes are fixed on the sky, and not the water. 

“Is this how you always feel?” Eddie asks him, voice hushed. Richie can see where his toes are curled over the lip of the cliff. “Like you don’t know what’s going to happen, but you’re ready for it anyway?” 

“No,” Richie says honestly, hoping that it will coax Eddie back from the edge. “It always feels like I’m going to fall and never know if I’ll be able to catch myself.” 

Eddie lets out a deep breath. “I don’t think I’d fall.” 

Richie lets him totter around on the edge of the cliff for a few more steps, watching as Eddie picks his way along the length of it. The others must catch sight of him, because Mike’s voice trails up the sides of the quarry’s walls. 

“What are you up to, Eddie?” 

Eddie finally looks down at the water, and Richie sees him grin and wave. 

“Living on the edge!” 

“Please be careful!” Bev calls up, and Richie’s heart pangs at the thought of her hearing their conversation, at the thought of Eddie thinking that she lives on the edge for any other reason than because she has to. 

“I’m trying not to be for once!” Eddie calls back, laughing a little. 

Richie can’t hold himself back anymore and he gets to his knees, fists curled into the fabric of his swimming trunks. 

“Eds, knock it off. You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

“Fuck off, no I won’t. I know this cliff like the back of my hand.” 

To prove his point, he dips to the side, like he’s going to dive right into the water. Richie makes a noise of distress and moves to stand up. 

“Eddie, stop! You proved your point, I take it back, you know how to live on the edge, so would you please stop fucking around--” 

“Calm down, Rich, I’m fucking fine. The one time I don’t want you to coddle me and you act like I’m going to fall and break all the bones in my body--” Eddie pivots as he says this, so that he’s facing Richie again. “See, nothing to worry about. I can live on the edge just fine!” 

As soon as the words pass Eddie’s red, grinning lips, he takes another step and catches the edge of the cliff with just his heel. He’d been too busy beaming at Richie and teasing him to see that the place he put his foot is starting to crumble away, and it results in his leg buckling. Eddie shouts, body twisting so that more of it is over the cliff than behind it, and Richie is on his feet and at Eddie’s side in an instant, just before he goes toppling over into the quarry. 

Richie manages to get his arms around Eddie and drag him away from the edge of the cliff, but the momentum of pulling him close sends them sprawling. Richie’s back hits the cliff at the same time that Eddie collapses on top of him, their foreheads knocking together painfully. Richie can hear their friends yelling and shouting from the water, wanting to know what the fuck is going on, but he can barely hear them over the sound of all of the blood in his body rushing to his head. He realizes, vaguely, that he’s probably hurting Eddie from how hard he’s clutching onto him, but he can’t make his arms unclench from Eddie’s ribs. 

Eddie is trembling above him, head bowed, and Richie thinks that he might be sobbing, might finally realize that what he did was fucking crazy. But then Eddie lifts his head up and Richie sees that he’s _laughing._

“Fuck you, Eddie,” Richie wheezes, voice pitching dangerously. “Fuck you, you piece of shit. You could have hurt yourself!” 

Eddie just laughs harder, head thrown back. Richie is still clinging to him, and he can feel all the places that they’re pressed together, can feel Eddie’s belly quivering with every laugh, can feel his knees bracketing Richie’s hips. Richie doesn’t know if he should burst into tears or sock him as hard as he can right in his dumb fucking face. 

Eventually, Eddie lowers his head and grins down at Richie. His eyes are bright, and almost shut from how hard he’s grinning, and if Richie thought he looked alive before, it’s nothing compared to now. He makes another choked, despairing noise when Eddie picks one hand off of the cliff and places it over Richie’s thundering heart. Richie can feel every single inch of every single finger pressing into him, Eddie’s skin hot from the rock beneath them, and his heart just starts to gallop even faster. 

Eddie gasps loudly, still laughing, and tells Richie, breathless and frenzied and alive, alive, alive: “That’s it! That’s what I’ve been looking for my _entire fucking life!”_ He takes one of Richie’s hands and pushes it against his own racing heartbeat, and Richie barely reels in the noise he wants to make, touching so much of Eddie at once. Their hearts are wildly out of synch, racing off-beat from each other, but Richie still feels Eddie could reach right into his chest and synch up if he tried hard enough. 

Instead of doing the same back, Richie lets his head thunk onto the cliff, eyes sliding shut. His head is spinning, and he feels like he might spiral into a panic attack even though Eddie’s fine, but he finds enough sense to tell him, voice devoid of any emotion that’s not irate, hoarse relief: 

“Go fuck yourself, Kaspbrak. You scared the hell out of me.” 

Richie expects (hopes) that Eddie will finally back down, apologize for acting like a crazy space alien for no goddamn reason and roll back onto the cliff. But instead, Eddie leans down, hand pressing into Richie’s heartbeat like he’s trying to crack it open, fingernails leaving behind tiny half-moons in his skin. Richie’s eyes snap open again, and when they find Eddie’s, it’s like looking into a pair of livewires. 

It makes Richie think to himself: _Who the fuck is this boy? I’ve never met him before in my entire life._ And then it makes him think to himself: _He finally came up from the bottom of the water. He’s screaming for breath. He’s never going back down._

Eddie’s voice comes out as a vicious whisper, but not towards Richie. It’s unquestionably towards the bathtub he’s been drowning in since he was five. 

“Good,” Eddie hisses, the hand by Richie’s head curling into a fist. “I hope I did fucking scare you. I’m done living like I’m going to shatter every time I walk outside the lines.” 

Richie stares at him silently, but not in disgust. The fear has settled into a rattle, like someone trying to rip their cage door off by the hinges. It leaves him feeling barbarous; when he sees the lightning starting to leak through the cracks in Eddie’s face, he thinks of _Paradise Lost,_ the last book they slogged through together for AP Lit last year _._

He pushes all of the pads of his fingers into Eddie’s wild, thunderous heartbeat and quotes: “‘The mind is its own place, and in itself/Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.’” 

And Eddie’s fierce stare splits open, letting more of that lightning out, and he quotes back: “‘Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.’” 

Richie has no doubt that Eddie’s going to start raising some Hell, now that he’s decided he’s done begging for Heaven. He just hopes that Eddie’s ravage of the temple isn’t going to leave Richie buried and left to die underneath all of the ruin. 

They stare intensely at each other, hearts steadying and synching, identical beats of **_THU-THUMP, THU-THUMP, THU-THUMP_ **against a pair of unmatching hands. If Richie were a braver person, he’d move that hand until it was curled around Eddie’s neck and pull him down into a biting kiss. If he were a braver person, he’d dig his hand into Eddie’s chest, grab his beating heart, and tell him: “Mine only does this to be next to yours.” 

Instead, he says to Eddie: “Welcome to the edge, Kaspbrak.” 

Eddie gives him a razor-sharp grin in return, and says: “If you don’t keep a close enough eye on me, I might just leap right off of it.” 

Richie’s got no fucking clue how to respond to that, besides: “Together or not at all.” Luckily, Stan’s voice echoes up the edges of the quarry before he can spit it out or something equally damning. 

“Eddie Kaspbrak! If you don’t tell us if you’re okay right this instant, I’m coming up there and breaking every bone in your body!” 

Eddie pushes himself back onto his haunches, hand dragging from Richie’s heart to his navel and then off, curling into the fabric of his own swimming trunks. Richie feels it like a lick of fire and clenches his toes to keep from squirming. Eddie is still looking down at him like God himself, eyes bright and expression ferocious. 

“I’m fine!” he calls to Stan, which results in the others all loudly sighing and telling Eddie that he almost gave them heart attacks. Their voices curl up the walls, reaching a harmonized pitch that sounds eerily like Sonia Kaspbrak, and Eddie hunches over him again. He pushes a single finger back into Richie’s heart, like he’s trying to pull the sword out of the stone, and says, just for the two of them: “I’m alive.” 

Richie feels himself come up for air, too, just enough to push his hand back into Eddie’s steady heart and tell him: 

“You’re _awake.”_

And Eddie’s freed grin is worth all of years off of his life that Richie’s lost at this point in the day. 

The others are telling them to come back down, to make sure that Eddie’s in one piece, and Eddie finally agrees. He gets to his feet and pulls Richie to his, hold like a vice, stronger than it’s ever been. Richie rocks a little into him, all too aware of how much more Eddie is going to be able to break him into a million pieces now. 

“Let’s go,” Eddie says, and Richie goes, helpless to do anything but follow, like Sisyphus doomed to roll his boulder up the hill for eternity, hoping for a different outcome but always getting thrown back down to the bottom. 

Like a mortal kneeling at the feet of a god, knowing that they’ll be forgotten in a matter of years but not knowing how to stop. 

**_~.~.~_ **

Richie is pulled out of an uneasy sleep in the dead of night by the telephone ringing. He makes a pained noise and blindly gropes for it in the dark, the edges of a nightmare still spearing into him.

“‘Lo?” he rasps, once he’s got the receiver to his ear. He can hear someone’s deep, unsteady breathing on the other line, and he can only imagine how his own sounds to them. “Who’sit?” 

There’s a long, suffocating beat of silence, where Richie wonders if he should just hang up, but doesn’t, feeling unsettled down to his bones. And then the other person takes a deep, ragged breath, and whispers: 

“Richie?”

Richie’s instantly wide awake, like someone dropped him into the middle of a frozen lake. “Eddie? What’s wrong?” Eddie takes another deep, ragged breath, and Richie’s brain immediately shoots to asthma attack. “Do you have your inhaler? What’s going on?” 

“Not--not having an attack,” Eddie rasps, but Richie’s not convinced. “Can you… _fuck,_ can you come get me? _Please?”_

The “Please,” sounds raw and frantic, like Eddie’s been buried alive, and Richie doesn’t make him ask twice. He stumbles out of bed, one hand reaching for his glasses and the other reaching for a wayward pair of sweatpants, phone crammed between his head and his shoulder. He tries to keep himself calm, knowing that it will help to keep Eddie’s episode from worsening, but his brain is a frantic scramble of _EddieEddieEddieEddiegettoEddiehelpEddieEddieEddie--_

“Where are you?” Richie asks in the calmest voice he can manage. 

“Mine,” Eddie spits, and his voice cracks around the end of the word. 

“I’m already on my way, Eds. Get outside where it’s safe.” Richie tells him, and then hangs up. 

He snatches his keys off of his bedside table and sprints down the stairs, thankful for once that his parents are never home. He almost eats shit when he’s bounding down the front steps to his house, but he manages to keep himself upright and get to his truck. The way he tears out of the driveway will probably wake a few of the neighbors up, even make some of them turn on their lights and look outside to investigate, but Richie can’t be bothered to care. He goes as fast as he dares to down his street, and then turns onto another, the one that will take him to Eddie’s. 

He forces himself to keep his focus on the road, and not on what could have possibly made Eddie call him at 3 fucking 26 A.M. like he was dying. His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and his breathing goes a little strangled, but Richie doesn’t let himself walk down the road of possibilities. His head says Pennywise, and his heart says existential crisis-induced-panic attack, but his gut, the darkest, grimmest part of himself, says Sonia. 

When he skids onto Eddie’s street and pulls up to the curb in front of his house, he sees a dark figure huddled on the porch. Their head lifts up at the soft growl of Richie’s truck, and Richie’s across the seat and shoving the passenger door open as soon as the figure leaps down onto the front lawn. 

He doesn’t see Eddie’s face until he’s climbing inside, the streetlights unable to penetrate the thatch of trees towering over his house. The first thing he looks for is blood, bruising, anything that would elicit such a violent, harried reaction from Eddie. And then, when he finds no blood, Richie realizes that Eddie’s been crying. 

He doesn’t think, he doesn’t second guess, and he doesn’t try to talk himself out of it. Richie takes in those wide, hurt eyes, the tears still clinging to his eyelashes, the harsh slant of his trembling mouth, and reaches out without a single doubt in his mind. He cups Eddie’s face with both hands, somehow steady despite the anger twisting inside every single part of his body, across the surface of his skin. 

“What did she do to you?” Richie whispers, doing his best to keep the bite out of his words. “What the _fuck_ did she _do to you,_ Eddie?”

Eddie’s mouth goes tight and then splits open on a sob; in the silence of Richie’s truck, the heartache and the misery in the sound are amplified to an unbearable level. Eddie sobs again, and again, until he’s absolutely bawling, and Richie pulls him across the bench seat, almost into his lap. Eddie goes, small hands wrapping around his biceps, and pushes his face into Richie’s chest like he’s trying to climb inside. Richie releases an unsteady, furious breath and keeps one hand on Eddie’s cheek, the other slotting carefully into the back of his soft, curling hair. He holds Eddie close and lets him cry, making comforting noises and saying, “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe now, I’ve got you.” The words make Eddie cry harder, and the choked, ragged breaths he takes in between each sob cut Richie like a knife. The only thing that keeps him from going inside the house and killing Sonia with his bare hands is the feeling of his bare hands keeping Eddie from being killed by her. 

On the tail-end of one of his splintered breaths, Eddie manages to choke out: “She didn’t hit me. She--” and nothing else. 

Richie’s hold on him tightens, hearing all the words, anyways. “She didn’t have to, Eds. She didn’t have to hit you to hurt you.” 

Eddie makes the worst noise Richie’s ever heard him make, worse than when Bill went after Pennywise in the basement of Neibolt without them, and worse still than when Richie snapped his broken arm into place moments later. It’s the single most agonized sound that Richie’s ever heard a human being make in his entire life, and it seizes him with a rage so powerful that he almost does get out of the truck. 

He forces himself to stay put and focus on the clench of Eddie’s fingers around his arms. 

He lets himself press a hard, loving kiss to the top of Eddie’s trembling head and tells him, voice strong and sure and without room for question: 

“She can’t hurt you now that I’m here. I won’t let her hurt you ever again.” 

Eddie sobs again, whimpering out a: _“Richie.”_ He doesn’t say anything else, and Richie’s heart throbs when Eddie takes his hands off of his arms and winds them tightly around his neck. Richie kisses his head again and holds on just as tight, screaming inside of his head: _Who the fuck could hurt someone so full of love?_

Eventually, Eddie’s sobbing subsides, until he’s just breathing unevenly against Richie’s aching heart. Richie holds him close until Eddie leans back, but even then, he keeps his hands cradled protectively around his head. Eddie looks torn apart, like Sonia grabbed him and ripped him right in half. His eyes are swollen and red, his cheeks even more so, and his lips look like they’re one more bite away from splitting open. Richie loves him so fiercely and wholly that it chokes him a little, looking down at a face he knows better than his own, at a face that is usually filled with nothing but kindness and is now filled with nothing but agony. 

“What did she do to you?” Richie asks again, so softly that he almost doesn’t say it at all, because he has to know. He has to undo whatever damage she’s done. 

Eddie’s eyes close briefly, face twisting and throat working to hold back another sob. When he can speak, he says, voice like jagged glass: 

“She tried to make me forget what being awake feels like.” His eyes flutter open, and Richie looks back at him, hands trembling dangerously. “She tried to make me forget what it’s like to see the sky.” 

Richie makes his own broken, devastated noise, and leans in again. “Where do you want to go?” 

“I don’t care,” Eddie tells him, another tear sliding down his cheek. “Somewhere I can see the sky.” 

Without another word, Richie pulls away from him and puts the truck in drive. He hears Eddie take a deep, shaky breath and then put his seatbelt on, and when Richie glances over at him, Eddie is huddled up against the door, head craned so that he can see the stars. Richie takes his right hand off of the steering wheel and blindly reaches for him; his hand grazes Eddie’s elbow, and when he runs his thumb over the soft skin of his inner arm, Eddie reaches down and grabs Richie’s hand with both of his. 

They hold onto each other tightly as Richie navigates the desolate streets of Derry. Occasionally, Eddie will rasp out: “Turn here,” or “Turn left at the light,” but mostly lets Richie choose where they’re going. Richie steals looks at him when he can, desperate to pull over and gather Eddie up in his arms again, but also desperate to get as far away from the Kaspbraks’ house as he can. He keeps driving, wondering how far they’ll have to go before they’ll be able to breathe right again. 

_We’ll never get far enough away,_ Richie’s mind supplies, and that’s when he sees that they’re heading right towards the _Now Leaving Derry!_ sign. He looks over at Eddie, and sees that Eddie’s already looking back, face desperate and a little wild. He tells Richie: “Keep going.” so Richie keeps going. 

Now that they’re out of town, the speed limit picks up from 30 to 55, and Richie pushes it to 60. His truck whines a little at the increase in speed, used to puttering from place to place in town, but Richie keeps his foot hard on the pedal. 

“Faster,” Eddie requests, and Richie’s never gone faster than 60 in this thing, but he does as Eddie says. He edges the truck up to 70, feeling it groan and shake a little. “Faster, faster.” 

Richie feels like he can’t breathe suddenly, like he won’t be able to breathe until he’s got the truck going as fast as he can make it go. He pushes down on the gas pedal and forces the truck up to 80, heart hammering against his sternum like someone trying to kick their way out of a coffin. His truck groans louder the higher the needle climbs, and when it starts to push 80, he feels the wheel shake under his hands. It feels like it’s going to pop right off of the rest of his truck, like the entire fucking thing is going to shake apart right in the middle of the road. It feels like Eddie’s shuddering, convulsing body underneath his trembling hands, like the hot, sickening rage he felt listening to Eddie weep in his arms, and he sets his jaw and pushes the gas down. 

Eddie suddenly releases his hand. Richie’s about to ask what’s wrong, but then he hears the creak of the window handle turning, and the deafening sound of wind rushing into the body of the truck. It feels suffocating just as much as it feels freeing, and Richie puts his right hand back on the wheel so that he can use his left to roll his window down, too. Wind is shrieking through the truck, and they’re barrelling down the highway at almost 90 miles per hour, and Richie feels like he could take them anywhere right now, like they could leave and never fucking go back to Derry again. It makes him feel the way he did after he yanked Eddie off of the edge of the quarry cliff, and the way he felt with Eddie sprawled out on top of him, miles of warm skin pressed together in the melting five o’clock sunlight. 

He doesn’t notice that Eddie has his seatbelt unbuckled until everything from his chest up is hanging out of the window. Richie looks at him in alarm, shouting: “What the fuck are you doing?!” over the deafening sound of the wind. 

“Feeling what it’s like to be free!” Eddie shouts back. His arms are reaching up, up, up, like he can grab the moon if he tries hard enough, and Richie has a crazy, sudden fear that Eddie’s going to fly right out of the truck. That Eddie’s going to get plucked out of his seat and rocket towards the skyline he’s been dreaming about all these weeks. 

Richie holds onto the steering wheel with both hands, gritting his teeth against the stinging in his eyes. He thinks it could be from the wind, but he knows better, knows it’s from all of the rage and the fear and the deep, relentless longing he’s been trying to smother. He hates Derry, for all the cages it has put him in; he hates Sonia, for all of the cages she has put Eddie in; he hates himself, for letting them be put into cages in the first place. Belatedly, he notices that Eddie is screaming, the sound of it swallowed up by the roaring wind. It cracks whatever’s left of Richie’s walls, and he starts screaming, too. He screams at the top of his lungs, until the sound of it goes reedy and thin. He screams so hard that he’s shocked he doesn’t start wailing, the sound of it higher than the roar of the wind and the roar of blood in his ears. 

He screams for so long and so hard that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop, that he’s going to scream until he detonates like a grenade, and then Eddie’s gripping onto his shirt and yelling, “Stop! Richie, stop!” over the sound of it all. 

Richie takes a deep, gulping breath and eases his foot over onto the brake. As soon as it starts, it ends, and Richie is bringing the truck to a complete stop on the side of some abandoned back road, Eddie panting in his ear and his heartbeat going nuts. His truck is making more protesting noises by the time he puts it in park, and then he turns it off, letting it rest and recharge. 

Richie doesn’t let go of the steering wheel until Eddie forces him to, working his fingers off one by one. Richie’s head is spinning a little, and he feels like he’s going to start screaming again, high and thin and painful, so he takes some deep breaths and hones in on the feeling of Eddie’s palms gently curling around his. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to be able to keep it all inside of himself ever again. He doesn’t know how the fuck he’s going to be able to turn them around and drive back to Derry once he gets his heart back inside of his body. 

He can feel Eddie’s chest pressing into his shoulder, and can feel Eddie breathing softly against his ear. He thinks he might even feel Eddie’s mouth brushing against it, and then thinks that Eddie might be talking to him, but he can’t hear it over the static in his head. Richie forces himself to breath in and out in four beat increments, until he can hear what Eddie is whispering to him. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re okay Rich, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to push you so hard--” 

Richie inhales brokenly and turns to him. Eddie’s eyes are huge, endless, and full of so much pain. He can’t stand the thought of Eddie thinking this is his fault, that it’s his fault that Richie is coming apart at the seams after all this time, or that Sonia is coming apart at the seams after all this time. He pushes their foreheads together, looking at Eddie severely through the smudged lenses of his glasses. 

“Don’t you dare say sorry,” Richie gasps, clenching his hands around Eddie’s. “It’s not your fault. Not me, not her--none of it. _It’s not your fault.”_

“It is,” Eddie insists, voice cracking, eyes filling up again. “It’s always my fault. Any version of me ends up hurting someone I love. Every time I try to break free, I have to step on someone I love to get there. I hate it, Richie, I can’t fucking stand it--” 

“Eddie.” Richie says, as strongly as he can without sounding angry. Eddie chokes on his sentence, eyes screwed shut. He looks like a single wrong word could pulverize him, so Richie takes another deep breath, trying to focus on his love and not his hate. “I fuck with you sometimes, but I don’t lie to you. I never, ever lie to you. So when I say it’s not your fault, I goddamn mean it. This is not your fault.” 

Eddie starts again, with a feeble: “But--” and Richie cuts him off softly, one hand going back into Eddie’s hair. 

“Do you think,” he asks, voice as gentle as it can go. “That what my parents do to me is my fault?” 

The reaction is immediate. Eddie’s eyes snap open, and Richie sees all of the angry, righteous love he feels whenever Sonia tries to shove Eddie back into the bottom of the bathtub. Eddie pushes their foreheads together even harder, until their noses are touching, too. It makes Richie melt a little, knowing that he’s had this same debate with himself for years and that Eddie doesn’t agree with it whatsoever. It soothes the ache for the first time in maybe his whole entire life.

 _“No,”_ he spits, hand tightening around Richie’s. “Not _ever,_ Richie, don’t even think like that--” 

“So why do you think it’s your fault that Sonia hurts you?” Richie asks him, an edge of desperation entering his voice. “Why in the absolute fuck do you think you are even a little bit at fault for what she does to you? She’s sick, and she’s manipulative, and she would rather have you be dependent, needy, and frail than alive, reaching for that fucking skyline you want so badly. What part of that is your fault?”

Eddie falls silent. Richie watches him turn the words over, feel them for maybe the first time in his whole entire life. He never lets his gaze waver, and he never lets go of Eddie, hellbent on making him see the truth. 

“It’s not your fault,” Richie says again, some moments later. “You don’t deserve to be confined for wanting to be free. You don’t deserve to be guilted into living for someone else instead of yourself. You--Eds, you deserve the fucking world. You deserve to _see_ the whole fucking world. And it’s definitely not your fucking fault for wanting to do whatever it takes to see it.” 

“But what about you?” Eddie asks him, the words so quiet that Richie would have missed them if his hand wasn’t tangled in Eddie’s curls. 

“What about me?” Richie asks him, the words so quiet that Eddie would have missed them if he wasn’t staring at Richie’s mouth like it’s holy. 

Eddie’s hand, the one he let go of, moves to mirror Richie’s. He feels Eddie’s thin fingers slide into the tangle of his curls, touch soft and sweet, and Richie loves him so deeply, so fully that it takes his breath away all over again. 

“I know that I’ve been slipping away a lot this summer, looking at the sky, wishing I was anywhere but here. I know that I’ve been distant with everyone, but especially you, Rich. I know you’ve been worried about me. I know you’ve _missed_ me.” 

The knowing way Eddie says this, and the way his voice goes tender and stricken at the same time, brings tears to Richie’s eyes. It’s his worst fear, losing Eddie; he’s been sick with terror over the idea of it since It happened, since he and Bill slammed their way into the kitchen of Neibolt and found It looming over Eddie, since Sonia locked up Eddie for weeks without letting them see him. Hearing Eddie say it out loud, that he knows him leaving would devastate Richie, makes him go hot and nauseous with shame. 

Eddie continues, eyes filling up, too. “I want to leave so _badly,_ Richie. But I can’t stand the thought of it hurting you. It’s going to hurt her, I fucking know it is, but she starting hurting me before I started hurting her, so it’s a fair trade. But _you--_ I’d never hurt you like that.” 

Richie makes a strangled noise and closes his eyes, having to look away. A few tears slip out when he does, and Eddie raises their joined hands immediately, brushing them off. Richie feels like he’s drowning, so liberated and so, so fucking doomed with the love he has for this boy sitting in his shitty truck, for this boy who thinks that just because he’s Richie’s whole world that he doesn’t deserve to live in a different one. 

“Eds--” he says eventually. “Eddie, I told you. You shouldn’t feel like you have to live for anyone but your own fucking self. She and I, we--we suffocate the fuck out of you, and we want you for our own selfish reasons, but none of those reasons should ever be a reason why you don’t let yourself live. I know the way I love you is different than the way she loves you, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. Sometimes it feels like we’re the same. And you shouldn’t feel guilty about letting either of us go so that you can touch that skyline.” 

Eddie’s breath stops, and then starts again, and when he speaks, he sounds royally pissed off just like he always does. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Richie swallows around the lump in his throat that feels suspiciously like the size of the world. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard Sonia tell you she’d die without you? How many times I’ve heard her say something to you that I _know_ makes you feel guilty and like the worst son in the entire world? How many times she’s said something that makes you think that the only thing you should ever be doing is grovelling at her feet and begging her to love you? I’ve heard it so many times that I dream about it sometimes, about her locking you up in that fucking house and never letting you leave again.” 

Eddie is trembling again, and it’s clear that this is something they are, at least, on the same page about. Richie tries to memorize the warmth of Eddie’s hands pressing against his skin, the smell of clean laundry and sunscreen and the lingering peppermint of his toothpaste, the sound of his breathing. He tries to memorize it all before he loses it completely, something that has been inevitable since the day he met Eddie, since the day he realized he was destined to love him for the rest of his life. 

“She’d do anything to keep you close,” Richie makes himself say, after running his thumb over the delicate knuckles of Eddie’s hand for the third time. “And so would I. That’s why you have to give us both up. We’re only ever going to hold you back. When you’re done here, you need to run as far away as fast as you can without either of us and never, ever fucking look back.” 

When he finally opens his eyes, after he thinks he can do so without bursting into tears, he sees that Eddie is still staring at him. He also sees that Eddie is quite possibly the angriest that Richie’s ever seen him. He thinks that it’s anger at Sonia, and probably at Richie, too, for suffocating him for his entire life instead of letting him breathe. _This is it,_ Richie says to himself, chest going hollow. _He gets it now. This is the last time you’ll ever get to touch him, Tozier, so you better hold on while you can._

And then Eddie opens his mouth and says, voice tight with rage: “How fucking dare you.” 

Richie flinches, trying to gently remove his hand from Eddie’s. “I never meant to--to be like her, but I just _am,_ Eddie, and I’m _sorry--”_

“Shut the fuck up!” Eddie snarls, and Richie does, struck dumb by the emotion behind the words. “I--you--I can’t believe you think that you are anything like her. What the fuck is _wrong_ with you!” 

“I--” 

“No!” Eddie yells again, and jerks his hand away from Richie’s so he can slap it over Richie’s mouth. “I’m not listening to another word of that complete and utter bullshit! I’m going to say this to you right the fuck now, and I’m only going to say it once. Are you fucking listening to me?” 

Powerless, Richie nods. 

Eddie swallows, and makes sure that their foreheads are still pressed all the way together, and then he says to Richie: 

“You are not like my mother at all. You are _nothing like her._ She can insist that she loves me all she wants, and that she wants what’s best for me, but all she wants is for me to be helpless and scared all the fucking time. She’d do whatever it fucking takes make sure I was reliant on her for the rest of my life. Were you even listening to yourself talk earlier? When you were asking me why I thought it was my fault that my mother is the way she is? Why the fuck do you think _you_ act like that?” 

Richie’s lips move, an explanation already at the forefront of his mind, but Eddie doesn’t stop. 

“No, I’m not listening to it. You’re still gonna sit there and let me fucking tell you something, Richie Tozier. I genuinely cannot comprehend why you think that you’re like my mom. That you love me the way my mom ‘loves’ me. You’re not a single fucking bit like her in any way, shape, or form. When I’m stuck with her, I want to do whatever it takes to get away from her. When I’m with you--I’d go anywhere with you, Rich. I’d follow you down to Hell if I had to. And I already have! I already followed you to Hell and I’m still here, ready to go back if I have to.” 

For once, Richie finds himself to be speechless. Whatever he thought he was going to say to Eddie suddenly dies on the tip of his tongue, and all he’s left with is shock, and a twisting heart. 

Eddie smiles, just a quick, fleeting pull at the corner of his mouth. “Get it now, genius? She’d do anything she had to to make sure I stayed weak and suffocated. Whenever I’m with you, it’s like I can breathe again. I feel like there’s a whole world outside of Derry that I could be brave enough to find. She loves me like a parasite loves a host, and you love me like--like rain and soil love plants. She takes and you grow.” 

Richie feels it well up inside of him, like a tidal wave rocketing towards a ship. He feels the love he has for Eddie shove its way up and out of the darkest corners of his body, towards his quivering, silenced mouth. He couldn’t stop it if he tried, and Richie is so fucking exhausted from hiding it all the time, so he doesn’t do either. He reaches up, pries Eddie’s fingers off of the seam of his lips, and says, before he can stop him: 

“Eddie, the way I love you is still selfish, even if I don’t love you like her.” 

“How?” Eddie demands. “How could it ever be selfish? Being loved by you is the best thing in my life.” 

Richie cracks open at that, more tears pooling in his eyes, his words going frantic. “You stupid asshole, I’m in love with you! I’ve been in love with you since we were thirteen years old! And probably before that, too! Even if it’s not the best thing for you, I would give anything to keep you with me because I’m in love with you! I’m in love with you!” 

Eddie stares at him, floored. Richie sobs helplessly, every kind of protective barrier unravelling inside of him. He shoves his empty hand into Eddie’s hair next to the other one, giving him a good, solid shake. 

“Do _you_ get it now?” Richie asks, completely destroyed. “I’m the same as her. I’d suffocate you if I was given the chance. I’d give _anything_ to stay with you for the rest of our stupid, miserable lives. Because I’m in love with you. And that’s why you have to leave.” 

Eddie makes a funny noise, and Richie shudders when the hand that was previously over his mouth trails down over the expanse of his throat. Eddie’s hand tightens over it, just enough so that Richie can feel it when he squeezes, like he’s going to choke Richie out for what he’s said. And then he grins, bright and beautiful and without a single ounce of shame or disgust, and says to Richie: 

“You’re a fucking idiot. I just told you that being loved by you is the best thing in my life. Especially--especially if you _love_ me. God, Richie, I never thought you’d _love_ me. I’ve been in love with you since the day I fucking met you.” 

Richie doesn’t think his feeble heart can handle this. He makes a very loud, pained sound in the intimate atmosphere of the truck, and Eddie immediately tries to soothe him, fingers combing through his wild curls. 

“Eddie--you--” 

When it’s clear that Richie’s not going to be able to say anything else on the matter, Eddie does it for him. He takes the hand on Richie’s throat and fists it into the collar of his shirt, like he’s going to wind his other arm up and deck Richie right in the face. Instead of doing anything like that, Eddie says: 

“You don’t suffocate me, Richie. You make me feel like I can find any skyline I want to. You make me feel like I’m alive. You make me feel like I’m _awake.”_

And then he tilts his head forward and presses a hard, searing kiss to Richie’s frozen mouth. 

It sucks all the breath out of Richie’s lungs, like he’s still going down the highway at 90 miles an hour with the windows rolled down. Like he can hear Eddie screaming at the top of his lungs, and is screaming, too, and won’t be able to fucking stop until Eddie tells him to. And then it forces all of the air back into his lungs, and Richie comes alive, too; he wakes the fuck up and kisses Eddie back the way he’s been wanting to kiss him for his entire life. 

Richie kisses Eddie deeply, using the hands in his hair to tilt his head until their lips slot together perfectly. Eddie makes a surprised noise, pressing closer, and Richie lets out a broken moan, a noise so wretched and relieved that it makes Eddie pull away just enough to ask him: 

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?” 

And Richie laughs, a little bit in delight and a lot in total, fucking desolation, and tells Eddie: “I’ve loved you for _so long,_ I didn’t even know I could ever fucking have this, Eds--I’m so fucking scared I’m dreaming--” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie tells him, making a point to enunciate every word carefully. “I’m not going anywhere without you, Richie.” 

Richie sobs and pulls Eddie back to him, kissing him with another broken, relieved moan. Eddie goes easily, both arms moving to curl around Richie’s neck again, like they did back at the house. Richie’s arms move until they’re clamped firmly around Eddie’s waist, so that he’s holding Eddie just as much as he’s kissing him. He pulls him closer and closer and closer until Eddie’s knees are drawing up and settling back down on either side of his hips, until Eddie is sitting squarely in his lap and completely wrapped around him. Richie kisses him over and over and over again, chasing the flavor of peppermint and the smell of sunlight and the skyline Eddie is going to touch someday. 

Richie has to pull away at some point to breathe, tears rolling freely down his face. Eddie makes that soothing noise again, drying Richie’s face with his endlessly gentle, patient hands. Richie can see through the sheet of his tears and the dim light inside of the truck that Eddie is crying, too, and if that doesn’t sum up how generous and beautiful of a person he is then Richie doesn’t know what does. Drying someone else’s tears instead of his own. 

He tries to start believing that he’s a generous person, too, and reaches up to dry Eddie’s tears as they fall. Eddie laughs and leans into his touch, sniffling softly, and Richie’s entire body throbs with overwhelming, unconditional love for him. 

“I would go to the ends of the earth for you,” Richie whispers reverently. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stay by your side until we get there.” 

Eddie leans in and rests their foreheads together again. “I already told you, Rich--I’m not going anywhere without you, ends of the earth or no.” 

Richie is still fragile, and a little disbelieving, so he whispers: “However long that lasts, then.” 

And Eddie must be feeling the bravest he’s ever felt, because he grins and whispers back: “However long you let me. We’ll find the skyline together.” He leans in close to Richie’s ear and asks, voice going fragile, too: “Will you say it again?” 

“Which one?”

“That you love me.” 

Richie hugs Eddie tight enough to bruise and says without a single bit of hesitation: “I love you. I’ve loved you my whole life, Eddie.” Eddie’s forehead rolls against his temple, like he’s shaking his head in disbelief, so Richie says it again. “I love you. I love you. I will always love you.” 

He feels more than hears Eddie take an uneven breath, but when he speaks, his voice is calm and sure. “I love you too, Richie. I love you so fucking much, no matter what.” 

Richie laughs, amazed at hearing the words again, wondering if he’ll ever stop being amazed that he got to hear them at all. They stay like that for a long, long time, quietly crying and holding each other. Richie knows that they have to go back eventually, that they can’t really be free until school is done, but he’s allowed to have this for awhile, so he takes it. He takes his time memorizing the weight of Eddie’s thighs pressing down into his, and the slow, steady beat of his pulse against Richie’s lips, and the soft scent of his fruity shampoo mixing with the warm cotton scent of his sleep shirt. He takes his time memorizing all the little details, and thinking about the fact that he knows what it’s like to kiss Eddie Kaspbrak, and what his voice sounds like when he says: “I love you,” and knows that no matter what happens next, or sometime in the future, that this is theirs and no one can take it away from them. Not Derry, not It, and not Sonia. 

It’s theirs, and they both deserve to have it. 

When Eddie’s blinking starts to go heavy, and his body starts to droop into Richie’s, he knows it’s time to head back. 

“Let’s go to my house,” Richie suggests quietly, gently running his hands up Eddie’s spine. “You look exhausted.” 

“I want to stay,” Eddie fights, but it’s more longing than fire. “I don’t want to go back.” 

“I don’t either, Eds, but we gotta.” Richie pushes a hand through his hair, and Eddie forces his eyes open again, blinking cutely. He laughs quietly, running his knuckles over the dark circles underneath them. “If we don’t go back now, we never will.” 

Eddie sighs deeply at that, at the unspoken reminder that there’s five other people that still need them. It gets him to nod, and give Richie a very reluctant, “Okay, let’s go.” 

Richie gets the truck started again while Eddie climbs off of his lap, stretching languidly. It takes every single shred of Richie’s self control to keep his hands to himself, but Eddie sees it anyways, now that he’s looking for it. He smiles at Richie’s clear dilemma and solves the problem for him by curling up next to Richie in the middle of the bench seat. 

“Eddie Spaghetti’s riding without his seatbelt on? I don’t believe my eyes.” 

“You won’t have eyes if you don’t keep them on the road and take me to your bed.” 

“Yes, sir,” Richie says, and throws the truck into drive. It groans a little, but not in an alarming way, and Richie is able to ease it back onto the still-vacant highway. He can see the sky lightening just a little, a clear indication that sunrise is on its way, and marvels at all that’s happened before the day has even fucking started. 

“No funny business when we get there,” Eddie announces, trying to sound stern. He’s clearly trying his best to stay awake, voice going mellow and slow, so the effect of it is ultimately lost. “Straight to bed.” 

“Yes, sir,” Richie repeats. He takes one hand off of the wheel and throws his arm over Eddie’s shoulders, letting him cuddle closer. Eddie does, sighing when he’s able to wrap his arms around Richie’s sides. “I’ll even carry you upstairs if you want, sugar.” 

“I love you,” Eddie slurs, instead of saying yes, and then promptly passes out while Richie’s brain short-circuits and tries to get back online. He spends the remaining twenty minutes back to town wondering how he’s going to survive Eddie saying that to him over and over again for the foreseeable future, and then remembers that Eddie is going to be saying “I love you.” to him for the foreseeable future, and starts grinning like a dumbass. 

He takes all the corners as slow as possible and crawls up his driveway so that Eddie doesn’t get jostled too much. When the truck is parked and off, Richie gingerly rubs his arm. 

“Eds, we’re here. I’ll carry you up, but you need to give me some help.” 

Eddie makes a garbled noise. “When did I fall asleep?” 

“Like twenty minutes ago,” Richie tells him, brushing back Eddie’s hair. “I just need you to let me get out and then I’ll carry you up, okay?” 

“You don’t have to,” Eddie protests, but it’s clearly half-assed. 

“Yes I do,” Richie laughs, and Eddie finally releases him. He slides out of the truck and then reaches a hand out, coaxing Eddie to slide his way, too. “C’mon, Sleeping Beauty.” 

“That’s Briar Rose to you, dickhead.” 

Eddie climbs over to the driver’s side door and Richie gets him situated from there, letting Eddie wrap his arms around Richie’s shoulders and helping Eddie wrap his legs around Richie’s sides. He shuts the truck door with his hip and then walks the two of them up to the front door, hands securely tucked underneath Eddie’s thighs. Eddie sighs sweetly and leans against him, already dozing off again, and Richie has to actively keep himself from backing Eddie up against the door and kissing the fuck out of him. 

It’s a slow and steady climb up the stairs, but Richie manages to get them there in one piece. He’s able to open his bedroom door and close it without dropping Eddie, and also able to successfully deposit him onto the bed. Eddie immediately squirms over to his side and gets under the covers, eyes barely opening to find the blankets or his pillow. 

“Anything else you need?” Richie asks, and it’s supposed to be sarcastic, but instead sounds disgustingly fond. 

Eddie cracks an eye open and reaches up to pull on Richie’s shirt. “Just you.” 

Another embarrassing, goofy grin takes over Richie’s face. “Let me turn off the lights first.” 

Eddie releases him long enough to shut the lights off and turn his fan on, and then he’s yanking Richie down into bed with him with more force than someone of Eddie’s size and sleep deprivation level should possess. He gets Richie where he wants him--on his side, so that they’re holding each other again--and then he releases a full body sigh, sinking pliantly into Richie’s arms. 

Richie wants to make a joke about how clingy Eddie is being, about how he didn’t know the Losers’ tiny ball of rage could be such a snuggler, but instead he pulls Eddie close and drops a kiss onto his head. 

“Goodnight, Eds. I love you.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says, but it’s full of warmth and contentment. “Night. Love you too, idiot.” 

Richie watches Eddie slip back into a peaceful sleep, looking openly at the details of his face that he usually has to sneak looks at during sleepovers in the dead of night. And then he falls into a deep, peaceful sleep, once he lets himself close his eyes and not fear that Eddie will be gone when he wakes up again. 

**_~.~.~_**

Richie can count on one hand the number of times he’s ever woken up before Eddie, and this is one of them. 

The sunlight is what coaxes him awake; Richie squints against it, making some undignified noise at the ache he feels in his eyes. When he can see, he notes two very important things: 1) Eddie Kaspbrak is still in his bed, and 2) Eddie Kaspbrak is still _conked the fuck out_ in his bed. 

Richie fumbles for his glasses. When they’re shoved onto his nose, and he can see Eddie in all of his warm, soft, sleeping glory, Richie makes another undignified noise. 

“You are fuckin’ beautiful, Eds,” he croaks to himself. Richie traces a very careful, light thumb over the curve of his mouth, feeling Eddie’s steady breathing just as much as he can hear it. “So goddamn gorgeous. I can’t believe you’re real sometimes.” 

He’s too busy staring at Eddie’s mouth to realize that Eddie’s eyes have fluttered open, until he feels that soft, pretty mouth twitch and say: 

“I can’t believe what a real pain in my ass you are.” 

Richie startles, and opens his mouth to apologize for being a freak, but then Eddie grins. His entire face transforms from calm to overjoyed, and it makes Richie whine a little, seeing all the sunlight creeping into his room soak up on Eddie’s bright, brilliant face. He remembers when Eddie almost went tumbling off of the cliff at the quarry and held his hand against Richie’s lurching heartbeat, hissing out: “This is what I’ve been looking for my entire life!” He feels those words rise within himself, looking at Eddie’s loving smile and the sprawl of his small, sleep-flushed limbs in Richie’s unmade bed. 

He feels himself breach the surface of the water, gasping deeply for air, and knows that there’s no way he can go back under. 

“You make it so easy,” Richie teases, trying to calm the fuck down. It doesn’t work nearly as well as he wants it to, and then he realizes that he doesn’t need to calm the fuck down anymore. So he grins back at Eddie, all cards on the table. “You’re so cute when you’re annoyed. How could I resist?” 

“I can think of so many reasons why you could and should,” Eddie tells him, but the way he looks at Richie speaks volumes, and makes him want to cry. “But I don’t want to.” 

“Are you admitting that you like it when I tease you?” 

Eddie lightly shoves at his chest. “Don’t get used to it, Trashmouth. But yes. Of course I like it when you fuck with me. I like that you’re not afraid to push me around.” 

“You take as good as you get,” Richie tells him honestly. “You’re actually better at it than I am by a long shot.” 

“I know,” Eddie hums. He rolls back into Richie’s arms, curling up against his full, singing heart. “I have to hold back most of the time so that I don’t make you cry.” 

Richie laughs loudly, pulling him even closer. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and presses his face into Eddie’s hair, taking a deep, easy breath. Eddie slips his hands up the back of Richie’s loose t-shirt and tangles their legs together, humming again when Richie kisses his forehead. 

“You’re incredible.” Richie whispers, so in love he could explode. “You’re my fucking soulmate.” 

Eddie laughs quietly. “You’re mine too.” 

It quells the leftover desperation in his chest, the raw, insatiable need to hold onto Eddie as tightly as he can. It slows his pulse to a steady thrum, to a speed it hasn’t been since he realized he was in love with Eddie. 

“I love you,” Richie says, and can’t wait to keep saying it, over and over and over again. 

Eddie kisses the side of his throat and says: “I love you,” and Richie grins against the crown of his head, heart soaring like Eddie just grabbed his hand and pulled him off of the quarry cliff and into the water down below. 

They drift off again, and ironically enough, Richie’s final thought to himself is that he’s never felt more awake in his entire life. 

**_~.~.~_ **

“We’re not watching any movies about outer space,” Stan loudly declares, loud enough that it trails into Ben’s kitchen where some of the others are getting snacks. “I refuse to listen to another argument where Michael tells me, to my face, that he would fight an invasion of aliens with a stun gun.” 

“Oh, because your regular gun would do _so_ much more damage, Uris?” Mike asks, padding back into the living room with a Coke and some popcorn. 

“I wouldn’t have to load it every single time I needed to use it, for starters--” 

“Would you two give it a rest?” Bev asks, exasperated, from her perch on the loveseat. “We’re definitely not watching something about outer space tonight. It’s Ben’s turn to pick. Don’t make me put both of you in time-out.” 

“He started it!” they say at the same time. Richie tilts his head back against the couch and laughs when he hears the sound of what is most definitely Stan slapping Mike’s arm, and Bev laughs, too, rolling her eyes. 

Bill is the next one out of the kitchen, juggling a large bowl of cheeto puffs and two Cokes for himself and Stan. He takes one look at the couch and raises his eyebrows; Stan and Mike are still scuffling with each other and swearing, and one jostle makes Stan shriek right in Richie’s ear. 

“Fuck’s sake, Stanley!” Richie yells, but he’s still laughing, because he can’t help it. 

“W-What the hell are you two doing?” Bill asks, amused. 

“He’s disrespecting my stun gun, man! My pride and joy! I can’t let him get away with that!” 

Stan makes a noise somewhere in between a growl and a battle cry and slaps Mike again. He, somehow and in some way, ends up kicking the back of Richie’s head and knocks his glasses half off of his face. 

“Ow! What the fuck, dude?” 

“Oh shit,” Stan gasps, but he’s laughing even harder now. “I’m sorry, Richie. Your big ass head just got in the way again, it seems.” 

Richie finally turns around and sees Stan grinning wildly down at him. He gives Stan the finger, but ends up grinning, too, so the threat behind it is immediately nullified. Mike is openly cracking up, but he does gently tap Richie on the head in his own version of an apology. 

“Go fuck yourself, Stan.” 

Stan laughs cutely and leans down to press a quick, loving kiss to Richie’s forehead. “There. All better. Now mind your own fucking business.” 

Richie looks up at Bill, who is trying his best not to laugh at Richie. “You bagged yourself a wild card, Big Bill.” 

“Beep beep, dummy,” Bill says fondly, and proceeds to wedge himself in between Stan and Mike so that they’ll stop dueling each other. “Okay, okay, that’s e-enough, you two. Not at movie night.” 

“I’m completely innocent here,” Stan tries, but the devious curl of his lips vastly eclipses his cherubic appearance. 

“Uh huh,” Bill nods, not a single bit fooled. “And Richie is straight.” 

“You take that back!” 

This is when Ben makes his appearance, holding his own giant bowl of popcorn and two Cokes for himself and Bev. He gives the pile of them by the couch a look, and then Bev, who makes grabby hands at him. 

“Thank God you’re here,” she sighs dramatically. “Someone with common sense.” 

“I am literally right here,” Bill teases her, at the same time that Richie says: “Fair.” 

“They’re still talking about fucking _Alien 3_ and when we were all debating about what weapon we’d use to fight the aliens.” She scoots over on the loveseat so that Ben can get comfortable, and then immediately curls up against him, pushing her face into his shoulder. “They’re insufferable. We should kick them out.” 

“If you want.” 

Stan makes a betrayed face, and then turns to Mike. “This is all your fault, Hanlon!” 

“It absolutely is not! Maybe if you didn’t start shit that you can’t finish, we wouldn’t be in this situation--” 

“I was kidding!” Ben yells, but he’s laughing at them, so he’s clearly not upset. “We’re watching _Aladdin_ tonight, so no room for error.” 

“On the contrary, I’d love to hear all of your opinions on if Jafar is the most fuckable villain in Disney or not--” Richie starts, and receives five loud: “No!”s in response. 

Eddie walks into the room just as they’re all screaming at Richie, cradling a bowl of popcorn and a Coke to his chest, and sighs deeply. “What did you do this time?” 

_“Me?”_ Richie demands, and it sends everyone in another fit of laughter, himself included. “This is bullshit! Stan starts the fight and makes everyone else take the punches for him! We’re leaving, Eddie! These people don’t deserve our company.” 

Richie gets as far as his knees before Eddie is in front of him and shoving him back onto his ass. 

“Sit down, _The Young and the Restless._ Stanley, stop pulling his pigtails--that’s my job.” 

“Unbelievable,” Richie sighs, loving every second of it. Stan snorts and says: “Keep it to yourself, Kaspbrak.” 

Eddie ends up sitting in between Richie’s legs, their knees pressed together and his back to Richie’s chest. Richie knows he’s probably grinning like a moron right now, and that all of their friends can see it, but he could not possibly care less. He lets Eddie get settled and then curls both of his arms around Eddie’s waist, smacking a loud, wet kiss to his cheek. Eddie wrinkles his nose, and Bev pretends to gag, yelling: “Ewww, Richie just kissed Eddie!” like a fifth grader. But then Eddie grins like a moron, too, and goes limp in Richie’s hold, and Richie kisses him again because he’s fucking allowed to do that now. 

“I’ll call 9-1-1!” Stan threatens. Richie hears him lean over Bill’s lap and feels it when Stan ruffles his curls, the affection behind the gesture making Richie’s chest flood with warmth. “Don’t fucking test me!” 

“Can we just watch the movie now?” Ben asks, trying to sound annoyed but only sounding very, very adoring. “Or should we just call it quits right now?” 

“Put it in, put it in!” Bill chants, and Richie takes the opportunity to yell: “That’s what she said!” above all of the clamour. 

“Shut up!” Eddie laughs, flicking Richie’s knee, and Richie laughs back, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck. 

Eventually, they all calm down enough for Ben to put the movie on. When Richie glances back at the three idiots on the couch, Stan is curled around Bill, looking so delighted that it makes Richie grin. Mike is also curled up with them, head resting on Bill’s unoccupied shoulder; when he catches Richie’s eye, he winks, and Richie winks back. He watches Ben fast forward the movie until they’re past all of the previews and starting on the glittering castle at the beginning of every Disney movie, and then watches him tiptoe back over to Beverly. They wrap their arms around each other and get comfortable; when Beverly catches his eye, she blows him a kiss, and Richie catches it and slaps it against his cheek. 

As the movie starts, and the majestic twang of _Arabian Nights_ starts playing throughout Ben’s living room, Richie thinks about the last time they were at Ben’s for movie night, threatening each other’s lives over gathering weapons for fighting off an alien invasion. He thinks about how Eddie wasn’t there for a fucking second of it, about how Eddie spent the whole night thinking about how he wanted to be somewhere else and didn’t deserve to go there. He thinks about how unreachable Eddie was, even when their entire bodies were pressed together and Richie could see the greens of _Alien 3_ reflecting back into Eddie’s wide, vacant eyes. 

He thinks about how he was so afraid Eddie would go somewhere he wouldn’t be able to follow. And then he thinks about the feeling of his arms around Eddie’s sides, the feeling Eddie breathing against him, the feeling of Eddie’s soft singing buzzing down deep into his skin. 

Richie thinks about the fact that Eddie wants him to see the skyline, too, wants Richie to follow him to the ends of the earth and even beyond that point, and releases a long, content breath, propping his chin up on top of Eddie’s head. Eddie hums quietly, hands trailing over the backs of Richie’s, and Richie settles in to watch a movie about two people falling in love against all odds and reaching for the stars together, the happiest he’s ever been in his entire goddamn life. 

He knows it’s the happiest he’s ever been when Eddie, after he’s done eating, carefully twines their fingers together and settles them over his chest. Knows it more than he’s ever known anything, except maybe that he’ll love Eddie until the day he dies, when Jasmine and Aladdin are flying around on a magic carpet together, up towards the moon, and Eddie whispers to him: “Hey, it’s us.” 

And he hopes it’s the happiest Eddie’s ever been, too, when Richie pushes his mouth up against his ear and whispers back: “It’s me and you forever, Eds.” 

**Author's Note:**

> That's it y'all!!! I hope that this all came out okay and was not too dramatic to enjoy lmfao!! I've already got a few more Reddie fics planned out so I hope this at least interests you enough to keep reading from me!! 
> 
> (special shout-out to the anon that left me a message on Tumblr a few days ago: this one is for you my kind sweet angel :") thank you for enjoying my content and taking the time out of your day to interact with me!!!!)


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